4* 


•: 


ibrnni  of  tf  onj)tfjs.«s. 

«/.,/..        p 

" 


, 


ITMTKU  SI'AIKS  <)i    AMhKK'A 


f 


THE 


PHILOSOPHY 


OF 


HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE, 


OR 


A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE. 


A 

&oum  of  Hectares, 

DELIVERED   AT   THE    UTICA    LYCEUM, 

BY  / 

/ 

ALEXANDER  B.  JOHNSON. 


NEW-YORK: 
/G.  &  C.  CARVILL,  108  BROADWAY. 

1828. 


\ 


'•' 


* 


\ 


Southern  District  of  New-York,  ss. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  That  on  the  14th  day  of  May,  A.I)  182S,  in  the 
52d  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States  of  America,  G.  &  C.  Car- 
rill,  of  the  said  District,  have  deposited  in  this  office  the  title  of  a  book,  the 
right  whereof  they  claim  as  proprietors  in  the  words  following,  to  wit: 

"  The  Philosophy  of  Human  Knowledge,  or  a  Treatise  on  Language.  A 
Course  of  Lectures,  delivered  before  the  Utica  Lyceum,  by  Alexander 
Johnson." 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled  an  Act 
for  the  encouragement  of  Learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts, 
and  Books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies  during  the  time 
therein  mentioned."  And  also  to  an  Act,  entitled  "an  Act,  supplementary 
to  an  Act,  entitled  an  Act,  for  the  encouragement  of  Learning,  by  securing 
the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of 
vuch  copies  during  the  times  therein  mentioned,  ami  extending  the  benefits 
thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and  etching  historical  and  other 
prints .»  F.  J.  BETTS. 

Clerk  of  the  Southern  District  of  New-York 
"" 


CONTENTS. 


p.t. 

INTRODUCTORY  LECTURE, 1 

LECTURE  I „..  16 

A  word  names  often  phenomena  of  different  senses  :  hence 
j  arises  in  language  an  ambiguity  which  is  the  foundation 

of  many  speculative  errors. — Phenomena  of  different 
senses,  that  possess  the  same  name,  aqcuire,  from  this 
verbal  identity,  an  erroneous  character  of  natural  iden- 
tity.— What  one  sense  informs  me  of,  no  one  or  more 
.         of  my  other  senses  can  reveal  to  me. 

LECTURE  II. 35 

Every  word  is  a  sound  which  had  no  signification  before 
it  was  used  to  name  some  phenomenon,  and  which  has 
now  no  signification  apart  from  the  phenomenon  to 
which  it  is  applied. — Words  are  often  divested  of  sig- 
nification.-^-We  are  vigilant,  to  detect  any  contradic- 
tion in  the  language  of  a  proposition,  but  we  never  ncr- 
tice  the  latent  contradiction  which  arises  from  predicat- 
ing sensible  phenomena  where  they  are  confessedly  un- 
discoverable. 

1   * 


Sv  CONTENTS. 

•  .  ,      - 

** 

LECTURE  III 55 

Every  word  has  as  many  meanings  as  there  are  different 
.  phenomena  to  which  it  refers. — The  correct  meaning 
of  a  word  is  the  sight,  feel,  taste,  or  other  phenomenon 
to  which  the  word  is  appropriated  by  approved  custom  : 
when,  however,  it  designates  any  phenomenon,  it  has  a 
meaning.— Language  can  in  no  case  mean  more  than 
the  phenomena  to  which  it.  refers. — Speculations  are 
often  encircled  with  a  false  splendour,  both  by  an  artifi-  , 
cial  exaltation  of  phenomena  and  an  artificial  degrada- 
tion. 

LECTURE  IV 78 

Every  general  proposition  has  as  many  significations  as  it 
possesses  different  particulars  to  which  it  refers ;  or,  in 
other  words,  the  signification  of  a  general  proposition 
is  the  particular  instance  to  which  the  speaker  alludes. 
—No  general  proposition  is  significant  if  it  refers  to  no 
particular  incident.— When  we  obtain  all  the  facts  which 
relate  to  any  subject,  we  obtain  every  thing  that  is  es- 
sential.—-Verbal  controversies  are  generally  mistaken 
for  investigations  of  nature. 

LECTURE  V 93 

Language  can  effect  n6  more  than  to  refer  me  directly  or 
indirectly  to  phenomena  that  are" known  to  mo. — Near- 
ly every  word  has  a  signification  which  refers  to  our 
senses,  and  another  which  refers  to  words. — In  every 
case  in  which  language  seems  to  effect  more  than  a  re- 
ference to  phenomena,  it  refers  to  words  only. — Copi- 
ousness may  increase  the  bulk  of  our  dictionaries,  but 
not  our  knowledge  of  nature. 

LECTURE  VI HI 

We  assent  to  a  proposition  when  we  discover  that  the  pre- 
mises affirm  the  conclusion. — When  a  writer  finds  that 
his  conclusions  are  not  obviously  admitted  by  his  pre- 


••' 


CONTENTS. 


raises,  he  will  so  explain  the  premises  as  to  show  that 
they  do  embrace  his  conclusions.—  Proofs  and  argu- 
ments have  no  efficacy  but  to  show  that  the  premises 
admit  the  conclusion. 

LECTURE  VII  ............................  .  .......  121 

Of  the  necessities  of  language.  —  When  we  say  the  whole 
of  an  orange  is  greater  than  a  part,  the  necessity  of  ad- 
mitting the  conclusion  is  founded  on  our  experience. 

LECTURE  VIII.  ...................................  128 

The  necessities  of  language  continued.  —  When  proposi- 
tions have  thus  obtained  an  authoritative  character,  we 
apply  them  where  there  are  no  corresponding  phenome- 
na :  this  is  one  of  the  most  subtle  delusions  to  which 
language  exposes*  us. 

LECTURE  IX  ...........  -.  ..........................  145 

The  necessities  of  language  concluded.  —  In  such  applica- 
tions, the  necessity  of  admitting  the  conclusions  is 
merely  verbal,  and  therefore  fallacious.  —  This  error 
enters  deeply  into  nearly  all  our  learning. 

LECTURE  X  ...................  .  ...........  .......  159 

Theorists  are  solicitous  about  names  and  definitions,  be- 
cause speculations  are  often  verbal  deductions  from 
names.—  The  error  of  this  process  is,  that  words  have 
as  many  significations  as  they  have  applications  to  dif- 
ferent phenomena  :  consequently,  though  the  assertion 
is  true  (when  applied  to  an  artificial  sphere)  that  no 
part  of  the  circumference  is  a  straight  line  ;  yet  the  as- 
sertion is  sophistical  when  the  word  sphere  is  applied 
to  the  earth  ;  because  sphere  has  then  a  different  signi- 
fication. —  If  we  employ  language  to  simply  refer  to 
phenomena,  no  serious  evil  can  arise  from  the  terms  we 
adopt  ;  bnt  if  we  select  words  to  draw  from  them  logi- 
cal deductions,  the  slightest  change  of  phraseology  may 
produce  in  philosophy  revolutions  which  no  man  can 
foresee. 


k  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ; 

ut  on  objects  produced  by  art.     The  animals  which 
•stitutc  his  food  are  unknown  to  nature,  while  trees, 
s,  and  herbs  are  the  trophies  of  his  labour.     His  vir- 
language,  actions,  sentiments,  and  desires  are  near- 
_.    factitious.   Stupendous  ia  achievement,  he  is  bound- 
attempts.     Having   subdued  the  surface  of  the 
W  *  would  explore  its  centre ;  having  vanquished 


would  subdue  death.     Unsatisfied  with  re- 
"'shably  the  past,  he  would  anticipate  the 
with    subjugating   the    ocean,    he 


air.     Success  seems  but  to  sharpen 

'lity   augments   his    impatience. — 

f ant  to  know  the  extent  of  our 

lipate  strength  in  designs  for 

d ;  or  attempt  practicabi- 

This  knowledge  is  the 


~^d  for  our  curi- 

There 
* 

'tion, 


COKTBHTS. 

* 

mises,  he  will  so  explain  the  premises  as  to  show  lhat 
they  do  embrace  his  conclusions. — Proofs  and  argu- 
ments hav«  no  efficacy  bm  to  show  that  the  premise 
admit  the  conclusion. 

LECTURE  VII. 

Of  the  necessities  of  language. — When  we  say  the 
of  an  orange  is  greater  than  a  part,  the  necessi' 
mitt  ing  the  conclusion  is  founded  on  our  exp 

LECTURE  VIII.. 

The  necessities  of  language  continued. — ^ 
tions  have  thus  obtained  an  authorita'' 

apply  them  where  there  are  no  cor 

...  f  .  ^rons  inclination  for 

na :  this  is  one  of  the  most  s 

language  exposes'us.  *as  diminished  my  con- 

LECTURE  IX i..-d  t^ie  ardour  which,  at  my 

The  necessities  of  languf  ol ideal  discussions  ; — vocife- 

tions,  the  necessi^rits  not  invaded,  and  vindictive 

merely  verbal,^  not  inflicted.      It  has  driven  mo 

enters  dee^of  tjlc  counting-house,  and  the  war  of 

LECTU^  to  an  unttini,itjol,g  avocation  ;  which,  whilst 

Js  the  conveniences  that  our  plainness  renders  es- 

,al,  enables  me  to  gratify  my  unenviable  propensity. 

Among  the  results  is  a  Treatise  on  the  Philosophy  of 

Human  Knowledge.     From  the  obscurity  in  which  my 

life  has  passed,   I   have  reason  to  suspect  an  absence, 

rather  than  the  possession,  of  instructive  talents:  hence 

the  Treatise  has  long  lain  unregarded,  and,  till  within  a 

few  days,  undivulged.     An  accidental  intimation  of  its 

existence,  has  produced  from  the  Lyceum  a  request  with 

which    I    shall   endeavour  to   comply,  by   moulding  the 

Treatise  into  short  and  occasional  lectures. 

Man  exists  in  a  world  of  his  own  creation.     He  cannot 
step,  but  on  ground  transformed  by  culture  ;  nor  look, 


4  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ; 

but  on  objects  produced  by  art.  The  animals  which 
constitute  his  food  are  unknown  to  nature,  while  trees, 
fruits,  and  herbs  are  the  trophies  of  his  labour.  His  vir- 
tues, language,  actions,  sentiments,  and  desires  are  near- 
ly all  factitious.  Stupendous  ia  achievement,  he  is  bound- 
less in  attempts.  Having  subdued  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  he  would  explore  its  centre ;  having  vanquished 
diseases,  he  would  subdue  death.  Unsatisfied  with  re- 
cording imperishably  the  past,  he  would  anticipate  the 
future.  Uncontented  with  subjugating  the  ocean,  he 
would  traverse  the  air.  Success  seems  but  to  sharpen 
his  avidity ;  while  facility  augments  his  impatience. — 
Thus  restless,  it  is  important  to  know  the  extent  of  our 
powers,  that  we  may  not  dissipate  strength  in  designs  for 
which  our  faculties  are  unsuited ;  or  attempt  practicabi- 
lities by  incompetent  methods.  This  knowledge  is  the 
philosophy  which  I  propose  to  discuss. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Nothing  is  too  sacred  for  our  curi- 
osity ; — nothing  too  remote — nothing  too  minute.  There 
is  in  language  an  illimitable  capacity  for  interrogation, 
and  its  excessive  exercise  constitutes  the  folly  of  wisdom, 
and  the  wisdom  of  folly.  Philosophy  is  deemed  a  species 
of  necromancy,  which  can  solve  all  questions ;  counter- 
vail the  impossibility  of  access,  and  remedy  the  finitude  of 
the  senses.  Hence  it  is  important  to  ascertain  whether 
all  inquiries  are  pertinent ;  how  far  we  may  rationally 
conjecture,  and  where  ignorance  is  incurable. 

But  even  these  are  not  all.  Language  is  rnouldable  into 
countless  propositions.   Mathematics  assure  us,  that  the 
water  which  placidly  swells  the  banks  of  our  canal,  is  no 
where  level ; — that  the  walls,  which  constitute  the  sides  of 
this  chamber,  are  not  parallel ;    that  a  line  no  longer  than 


OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE. 

an  inch  is  diminishablc  interminably  without  arriving  at 
the  end  of  extension. 

Astronomy  declares,  that  we  are  whirled  every  moment  a 
thousand  miles  in  one  direction,  and  fifteen  miles  in 
another  ;  and  in  this  giddy  rotation  our  heads  travel  faster 
than  our  bodies ;  that  a  portion  of  mankind  walk  with  their 
feet  diametrically  opposite  to  ours  ;  that  the  world  is  a 
ball,  and  assumes  at  a  certain  distance  the  appearance  of 
a  star ;  that  comets  are  hotter  than  red  hot  iron,  and  the 
sun  a  body  of  fire  thirteen  hundred  thousand  times  larger 
than  the  earth. 

Optics  assert,  that  while  I  look  around  our  village,  and 
perceive  distant  hills,  and  spacious  streets,  lofty  buildings, 
and  prosperous  industry;  I  truly  see  nothing,  which  is 
either  spacious  or  distant,  but  a  wonderful  miniature,  not 
an  inch  in  diameter,  that  is  painted  on  the  retina  of  my 
eyes. 

Physiology  affirms,  that  a  ray  of  light,  which  appears 
•colourless,  is  a  gaudy  combination  ;  while  roses  are  a  mere 
blank  apparatus  to  display  the  tints  which  exist  latently 
in  light.  Botany  has,  however,  compensated  flowers  for 
this  disparagement.  She  insists  that  plants  eat,  drink,  and 
sleep,  and  breathe; — that  they  arc  male  and  female; — 
that  their  fragrance  is  amorous  sighs,  and  their  motions 
nervous  irritability. 

Chymistry  is  peculiarly  the  science  of  enchantment. 
Its  motto  is  to  degrade  all  that  is  high,  and  exalt  all  that 
is  low.  It  professes  to  remedy  the  defects  of  vision  : — to 
elaborate  by  analysis  what  would  be  apparent  in  nature 
were  our  senses  more  acute.  It  asserts  that  glass  is  not 
uniform  and  transparent,  but  a  congeries  of  opaque  sand 
and  salt; — that  our  flesh  is  not  the  firm,  polished  sub- 


6  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ; 

stance  which  it  appears,  but'  a  combination  of  disgustful 
gases ; — that  the  diamond  which  sparkles  on  the  breast 
of  beauty  is  charcoal,  that  defiles  the  hands  of  black- 
smiths. 

To  deny  these  assertions,  is  to  disbelieve  the  best  de- 
monstrated conclusions.  There  exists  a  pruriency  in  every 
science,  to  thus  irritate  curiosity  by  an  apparent  contra- 
diction of  our  senses  ;  and  to  exalt  phenomena  by  a  novel 
application  of  names : — hence  it  is  important  to  discover 
some  test  by  which  we  can  ascertain  the  significancy  of 
language  when  so  employed,  that  we  may  no  longer  be  j 
perplexed  with  deductions  which  logic  cannot  controvert, 
and  which  the  senses  cannot  admit. 

You  perceive,  then,  that  the  Philosophy  of  Human 
Knowledge  deserves  attention.  There  has  always  exist- 
ed an  indefinite  impression  that  such  a  science  is  attaina- 
ble. It  has  been  to  metaphysics,  what  alchymy  has  to 
chymistry  ;  or  what  perpetual  motion  has  been  to  mechan- 
ics ; — sufficiently  plausible  to  stimulate  our  efforts,  and  * 
sufficiently  subtle  to  elude  them. 

•  In  such  a  science,  I  must,  hpwever,  confess  myseJf  a 
believer  ;  though  the  progress  which  has  been  made  in  it 
is  inconsiderable.  The  labours  of  antiquity  have  descend- 
ed to  us  embarrassed  with  mutilation  and  obsoleteness. 
Yet  we  may  discover  that  ancient  metaphysics  consisted 
principally  in  the  formation  of  general  propositions,  which, 
though  dictated  by  the  senses,  were  supposed  authorita- 
tive beyond  their  purview.  Thus,  it  was  maintained, 
that  "  nothing  can  be  erected  out  of  nothing  ;"  hence  that 
the  power  of  deity,  in  the  construction  of  the  world,  ex- 
tended only  to  arrange  materials,  which  were  co-eternal 
with  himself.  Clouds  and  darkness  soon  enveloped  such 


OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  7 

speculations,  and  reason  looked  aghast  at  the  monsters  of 
its  own  invention. 

With  modern  writers  also,  the  science  is  in  its  rofancy. 
Etymology  has  pursued  it  through  all  the  torturous  wan- 
derings of  words,  up  to  their  pristine  signification.  Dis- 
covering hence,  that  spirit  signified  originally  breath,  she 
concludes  that  the  word  has  still  no  other  import.  In- 
stead, therefore)  of  expounding  a  word  by  narrating  the  phe- 
nomena to  which  it  is  now  affixed,  she  seeks  its  meaning 
by  groping  for  the  phenomena  to  which  it  was  originally 
applied  :— overlooking  the  most  important  characteristic 
of  language,  that  every  word  possesses  as  many  meanings, 
as  it  possesses  applications  to  different  phenomena. 

Induction  is  another  method  by  which  our  science  has 
been  attempted.  We  upbraid  the  ancients  with  reason- 
ing from  general  propositions  to  particular  facts.  This 
process  induction  reverses.  She  discovers  that  my  hand 
cannot  draw  on  a  glove  without  touching  the  glove ;  that 
you  cannot  light  a  candle,  unless  an  igniting  body  be  con- 
veyed to  the  candle  :  hence  induction  forms  a  general 
proposition,  "  that  nothing  can  act  where  it  is  not."  The 
proposition  would  be  abundantly  harmless,  were  it  deemed 
significant  of  those  facts  only  from  which  it  is  elaborated ; 
but  induction  estimates  facts  as  the  mere  ladder  by  which 
she  is  enabled  to  climb  beyond  the  senses  ;  then,  like  the 
ambition  described  by  Shakspeare, 

"  She  unto  the  ladder  turns  her  back, 

Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees 

By  which  she  did  ascend." 

Lord  Monboddo  maintained,  that,  (as  nothing  can  act 
where  it  is  not,)  when  we  see  distant  objects,  our  soul  pas- 
ses from  us  to  the  object.  The  conclusion  was  too  gross 


s 


TH1  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  J 


to  be  permanent,  therefore  we  now  suppose,  that  sight  is 
produced  by  rays,  which  rebound  from  visible  objects,  to 
the  optic  nerve ; — that  sound  is  conveyed  by  appulses  of 
air,  which  strike  the  tympanum ;  and  that  smells  are  dif- 
fused by  small  corpuscles,  which  are  wafted  to  the  olfac- 
tory nerve. 

There  is  still  another  way  in  which  philosophy  has  ex- 
pended itself,  when  employed  metaphysically.  We  show 
to  a  chHd  an  iron  red  with  heat,  and  we  assure  him  that 
pain  will  follow  its  contaction.  The  monition  vanishes 
with  the  iron,  never  to  recur,  but  on  a  recurrence  of  the 
danger.  Painfully  industrious  we  peruse  biography, 
theology,  legal  intricacies,  and  medical  properties.  To 
nature  we  unheedingly  commit  the  whole  unsorted,  un- 
arranged,  •  Yet  a  hero's  name  no  sooner  strikes  the  por- 
tals of  hearing,  than  memory,  like  an  officious  chronicler, 
announces  his  fortunes,  qualities  and  actions.  A  legal 
injury  summons  all  the  methods  of  redress  : — anticipation 
awards  a  verdict,  and  imagination  exults  in  the  triumph. 

These  are  briefly  the  services  of  thought.  Its  minis- 
trations are  incessant,  its  uses  infinite ;  and  they  are  di- 
visible, by  the  copiousness  of  language,  into  recollection, 
retrospection,  anticipation,  ratiocination,  imagination,  de- 
liberation, and  various  other  operations.  But,  instead  of 
recording  the  phenomena,  and  leaving  them  to  be  mar- 
shalled under  the  names  which  use  shall  determine,  phi- 
losophers have  considered  the  marshalling  to  be  their 
province :  hence,  what  is  denominated  the  Philosophy  of 
Mind,  consists  of  but  little  more  than  a  contentious  verbal 
criticism. 

Such  then  is  the  present  state  of  the  philosophy  which 
I  propose  to  investigate.     Judgment  is  wearied  in  exa- 


OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE. 

mining  chimeras,  that  possess  no  interest  but  their  defor- 
mity; and  exploring  labyrinths,  which  have  no  merit  but 
intricacy.  The  science  has  long  lost  the  favour  of  practi- 
cal men,  and  is  almost  abandoned,. with  alchymy  and  ca- 
tholicons,  to  the  dreams  of  enthusiasm.  These  are  for- 
midable impediments,  and  they  are  peculiar  to  this  science. 
But  there  are  many  others,  which  are  incident  to  the 
promulgation  of  every  new  doctrine ;  and,  that  you  may 
behold  the  extent  of  my  temerity,  I  will  adduce  a  few  of 
them. 

Words  may  be  compared  to  music.  When  a  Briton 
listens  to  a  certain  tune  of  Handel,  the  notes  articulate 
distinctly,  "  God  save  great  George  the  King;"  but, 
when  an  American  hears  it,  the  notes  articulate, '"  God 
save  great  Washington."  Hence  the  difficulty  in  under- 
standing a  strange  doctrine.  The  words  will  constantly 
excite  old  opinions,  though  the  speaker  intends  new. 

When  Columbus  informed  the  Spaniards  that  he  had 
discovered  a  new  world,  inhabited  by  men,  the  Spaniards 
attached  to  the  word  man  its  ordinary  signification;  nor 
were  they  undeceived,  till  Columbus  exhibited  the  natives. 
I  saw  once,  in  a  Roman  Catholic  cathedral,  a  wax  candle 
burning  before  .the  altar  :  you  will  suppose  that  the  word 
candle  intimates  sufficiently  my  meaning,  but  it  will  be 
wholly  unrevealed  ; — what  I  saw,  possessed  the  circum- 
ference of  my  arm,  and  the  height  of  this  table. 

Of  the  mistakes  to  which  we  are  thus  liable,  I  can  ad- 
duce nothing  more  explanatory  than  the  philosophy  of 
Epicurus.  He  maintained,  that  happiness  consists  in 
pleasure.  Shortly  every  libertine  sought  protection  un- 
der this  philosophy ;  and  now  its  name  is  synonimous 
with  luxurious  sensuality.  But  fortunately  for  the  repu- 

2 


10  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE. 

tation  of  the  philosopher,  we  eventually  discover  thai  the 
pleasure  to  which  Epicurus  alluded  was  virtue. 

Modern  researches  escape  not  obscurations  equally 
gross.  We  read  of  volcanoes  that  are  discoveYed  in  the 
moon  5  of  immense  mountains  nine  miles  perpendicular—* 
in  the  moon  ;  of  a  country  six  thousand  miles  in  circum- 
ference, devoid  of  atmosphere  and  water, — in  the  moon  ; 
of  awful  chasms  as  broad  as  oceans  and  as  deep, — also  in 
the  moon.  We  read,  likewise,  of  small  planets  that 
were  created  by  the  explosion  of  a  great  planet ;  and  that 
the  roofs  of  houses  would  appear,  (if  we  could  divest  our- 
selves of  prejudice,)  lower  than  the  foundations.  These 
expressions  are  amply  significant,  when  correctly  under- 
stood ;  but  whoever  shall  affix  to  the  words  their  ordina- 
ry-import, will  err  as  widely  .as  the  remote  disciples  of 
Epicurus.  ; 

Such  examples  should  instruct  us  that  the  puerilities 
of  ancient  metaphysics  had  probably  a  sensible  significa- 
tion to  their  authors ;  and  should  restrain  our  perverse 
assumption,  that  every  writer  is  to  be  literally  interpreted, 
though  we  thereby  make  him  utter  the  greatest  absurdi- 
ties.    Ancient  speculations  of  the  above  description  are 
frequently  made  significant  by  modern  discoveries.     After 
we  acquire  thus  a  meaning  to  the  heretofore  unintelligi- 
ble  sentences,  we  announce  that  the  ancient  author  in- 
tended the  modern  signification,  though  probably  nothing 
was  further  from  his  apprehension.     This  principle  indu- 
ces us  to  attribute  to  Pythagoras  the  astronomical  system 
of  Copernicus ;  and   enables  us  to  discover  in  Homer  a 
profundity  of  knowledge  that  he  never  conceived  ;  and  to 
find  in  the  general   suggestions  of  Bacon  every  art  and 
science  that  has  succeeded  him. 


OR,    A     TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  11 

Tfce  next  obstacle  which  every  new  doctrine  encoun- 
ters, is  prejudice.  When  Copernicus  asserted  the  sun's 
quiescence,  .the  theory  was  deemed  subversive  of  scrip- 
ture, which  declares  that  Joshua  protracted  day  by  arrest- 
ing the  sun.  Better  interpreters  have  succeeded  in  es- 
tablishing, that  the  prolongation  of  day  constituted  the 
only  material  fact ;  and  if  Deity  should  even  now  pro- 
mulge  the  process,  it  would  surpass  our  comprehension* 

This  historical  instance  is  trite,  but  very  illustrative  of 
the  identification  of  erroneous  conclusions  with  indisputa- 
ble truths.  Whatever  contradicts  the  former,  we  deem 
incompatible  with  the  latter.  Such  prejudices  oppose  a 
sturdy  barrier  against  any  new  doctrine  connected  with 
the  philosophy  of  human  knowledge ;  for  on  no  subject 
are  artificial  conclusions  so  widely  diffused,  and  implicitly 
believed.  Every  man  possesses  some  metaphysical  sys- 
tem which  he  has  imbibed,  he  knows  not  how ;  and  cre- 
dits, he  knows  not  why.  Its  incomprehensibility  renders 
him  sensitive  to  its  preservation.  It  is  an  unfortunate  child, 
whose  very  idiocy  endears  it  to  his  feelings. 

Besides,  every  science  is  so  encumbered  with  proposi- 
tions which  are  hostile  to  the  information  of  our  senses, 
that  repugnance  to  them  has  ceased  from  obstructing  cre- 
dibility ;  hence  the  most  subtle  deductions,  and  extended 
analogies,  are  implicitly  adopted  by  the  illiterate  as  phe- 
nomena, which,  though  above  their  perception,  are  per- 
vious to  the  learned.  You  cannot  find  a  person  who  does 
not  as  readily  believe  that  the  earth  moves,  as  that  his 
cart  moves.  The  won!  motion,  he  supposes  to  possess 
the  same  signification  in  both  cases  ;  while  truly,  when 
applied  to  the  earth,  it  means  certain  phenomena  only, 
which  arc  explicable  in  no  way  so  \voll  as  by  assuming  a 


12  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE; 

motion  of  the  earth.  The  earth's  motion  means  all  the 
proofs  which  can  be  adduced  in  support  of  the  theory. 
Whoever  believes  that  the  motion  purports  -more,  is  de- 
ceived by  language. 

A  mid  this  dreary  host  of  ambiguities,  prepossessions, 
and  prejudices,  exist  a  few  enlivening  auxiliaries.  When 
Cicero  visited  the  groves  of  Academus,  Socrates  had  long 
been  sacrificed  to  envy,  and  his  great  disciple  had  realiz- 
ed, in  eternity,  some  of  their  sublime  conjectures.  Yet 
Cicero's  imagination  re-peopled  the  Academy*  It  saw 
Plato  surrounded  by  the  youth  of  Athens,  and  heard  his 
eloquence  captivate  again  the  understanding.  Why  then 
may  not  a  name  produce  enthusiasm  now,  and  our  Lyceum 
gleam  with  a  faint  glory  from  a  recollection  of  the  im- 
mortal Aristotle,  the  founder  of  the  first  Lyceum,  and 
the  Philosopher  to  whom  the  honour  is  due  of  discovering 
the  only  principle  on  which  reasoning  must  for  ever  de- 
pend: a  discovery  which  time  cannot  simplify  nor  en- 
large ;  which  eulogy  has  been  unable  to  obscure  by  com- 
ment, or  prejudice  to  subvert  by  proscription  ;  and  which 
teaches  that  argumentation  may  mould  knowledge  into 
new  forms  of  speech,  but  cannot  extend  it  beyond  our 
premises  ? 

In  oral  instruction  to  voluntary  auditors,  the  speaker 
must  conciliate  his  bearers,  or  he  is  taught  by  the  soli- 
tude which  soon  environs  him  that  his  labours  are  vain. 
Hence  the  Grecian  philosophers  were  the  most  eloquent 
men  of  their  age  ;  while  probably,  from  a  resort  cither  to 
typography,  or  lectures' to  involuntary  hearers,  philosophy 
exhibits  now  no  traces  of  fascination.  Usually  it  com- 
bines slovenly  composition  with  sterility  of  ornament ; 
and  custom  has  even  moulded  these  deformities  into  a 


OR,    A    TREATISE   ON    LANGUAGE.  13 

canon  of  criticism.  Professor  Blair  recommends  the 
style  of  Locke's  Essay  as  a  model :  a  work  which,  though 
it  carries  the  philosophy  of  knowledge  as  far  as  it  has 
ye"t  been  extended,  presents  no  page  that  will  not  bear  an 
expunction  of  a  quarter  of  its  words  with  benefit  to  per- 
spicuity. 

Philosophy  is,  however,  not  necessarily  the  frowning, 
sluggish  divinity  that  her  ministers  have  injudiciously  re- 
presented.. Her  dress  may  be  splendid,  her  decorations 
brilliant;  the  clearest  light  should  always  illuminate  her 
throne,  arid  disputation  be  banished  from  her  presence.. 
Under  this>npprehension  of  her  character  will  my  lowly 
sacrifices  be  administered  at  her  altar.  I  pause  at  this 
promise  !  J  feel  that  all  the  stimulation  which  your  be- 
nevolence can  yield  will  be  necessary  to  my  perseverance. 
Nay,  if  1  stagnate  in  the  midst  of  your  kindest  efforts,  the 
result  will  disappoint  my  hopes  rather  than  my  expecta- 
tions. / 

When  fame  has  produced  for  an  individual  an  eleva- 
tion to  which  all  eyes  are  coutinuallly  directed; — when 
his  opinions  are  impatiently  expected,  and  rapidly  disse- 
minated ;  when  they  are  applauded  in  anticipation,  and 
their  adoption  secured  by  prepossessions  ;  the  labour  of 
composition  assimifates  to  the  progress,  through  Spain,  of 
the  Duke  of  Angouleme*,— --a  progress  in  which  evory 
city  was  approached,  but  to  bo  entered  with  a  bloodless  tri- 
umph; and  every  enemy  pursued  but  to  be  received  by 
a  resistless  surrender — a  progress  whose  labour  is  only 
the  fatigue  of  pleasure;  and  whose  dangers  are  merely 
the  inebriation  of  success. 

*  This  discourse  was  pronounced  in  the  wiuter  of  1W2,">. 


14  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ; 

Startled  at  the  difference  between  such  a  writer  and 
me,  I  have  more  tban  once  cast  aside  my  pen  as  an  insi- 
dious enemy,  that  lures  me  from  the  substantial  pursuits 
of  life  with  an  unreal  .mockery.  Even* the  consolation 
of  yielding  an  amusement  to  you  cannot  well  be  expected) 
and  whilst  I  have  been  distracted  in  seeking  a  worthy  mo- 
tive for  exertion,  I  have  not  been  without  apprehensions 
that  I  may,  unconsciously,  be  influenced  by  the  demon 
who,  more  than  any  other,  revels  in  our  infirmities.  The 
demon  who  makes  the  taciturn  more  egregiously  dull,  and 
the  volatile  more  absurdly  loquacious ;  who  makes  ill-timed 
gravity  more  strongly  contract  its  brows,  and  incessant 
levity  more  broadly  relax  its  muscles. 

The  demon,  at  whose  pernicious  suggestion  even  mo- 
ral deformities  arc  frequently  heightened.  Surgeons, 
thus  induced,  will  boast  of  an  insensibility  that  they  can- 
not feel ;  and  libertines  of  profligacy  that  they  never  prac- 
tised. The  avaricious  will  falsely  magnify  his  selfishness, 
and  the  prodigal  his  expenses.  The  liar  will  laugh  at  an 
exaggerated  recital  of  his  infamy,  and  the  extortioner  at 
an  aggravated  list  of  his  oppressions.  Nor  do  the  infir- 
mities of  nature  escjape  the  malice  of  this  universal  coun- 
sellor. Dwarfs,  at  his  suggestion,  endeavour  to  appear 
smaller,  and  giants  larger.  The  stammerer  he  urges  to 
incessant  conversation,  and  the  freckled  to  an  unnecessary 
nudity. 

Whilst  I  was  reflecting  on  the  eccentricities  which  pro- 
ceed from  his  persuasion,  imagination  presented  him  un- 
expectedly before  me.  His  language  was  harmonious — 
his  actions  were  profoundly  respectful.  Delight  hung 
upon  his  lips,  and  irresistible  conviction  accompanied  his 
communication.  An  unusual  complacency  expanded  my 


OR,    A    TREATISE    ON     LANGUAGE.  16 

breast.  I  arose  from  an  indolent  recumbency,  extended 
my  arms  in  the  attitude  of  oratory,  and  prepared  to  wel- 
come him  with  all  the  figures  of  eloquence.  When  sud- 
denly, approaching  the  fiend,  his  eyes  were  averted,  and 
his  face  was  distorted  with  laughter.  He  dissolved  into 
air,  and,  as  he  vanished,  I  discovered  that  his  name  was 
Vanity. 


16  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;         [LeC.  I. 


L.ECTURE    I. 


PIETY  has  induced  the  declaration,  that  God  makes  no- 
thing in  vain  ;  and  truly,  when  we  contemplate  the  world, 
no  recess  is  unoccupied.  We  cannot,  by  penetrating  the 
earth,  discover  a  vacuity  ;  we  cannot  exalt  our  vision-  be- 
yond created  objects ;  we  cannot  fathom  the  fulness  of  the 
ocean. 

With  this  infinity  of  being  man  converses  by  means  of 
his  senses.  Every  sense  is  peculiar.  Its  loss  is  irreme- 
diable by  the  others.  Even  to  suggest,  that  no  sense  but 
seeing  can  inform  us  of  sights;  that  no  sense  but  hearing 
can  inform  us  of  sounds,  seems  absurd  from  its  obvious- 
ness. Still  this  indisputableness  exists  no  longer  than  we 
refrain  from  applying  names  to  the  information  of  our 
senses.  If  you  assert  that  no  sense  but  seeing  can  in- 
form us  of  colours,  you  will  be  reminded  of  blind  persons, 
who  have  discriminated  colours  by  feeling.  The  fact  may 
not  be  controvcrtible  ;  but  the  word  colour,  when  applied 
by  you,  is  the  name  of  a  sight ;  and  when  used  by  the 
blind,  it  designates  a  feck  A  blind  man  who  possessed 


LCO.   1.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  17 

this  intelligence,  said  that  black  was  a  singular  roughness, 
and  scarlet  a  delicate  adhesion. 

Again :  if  you  assert  that  hearing  alone  can  inform  us 
of  thunder,  you  may  be  told  of  deaf  persons  who  disco- 
ver thunder  by  a  concussion  of  the  atmosphere.  Here 
thunder  is  to  you  the  name  of  a  sound,  but  to  them  a  sen- 
sation of  feeling. 

To  avoid  then  an  ambiguity,  which  is  inherent  in  lan- 
guage, I  will  apply  the  term  sights,  to  all  the  information 
that  we  derive  from  seeing ;  the  term  sounds,  to  all  the 
information  of  hearing ;  and  the  term  feels,  tastes,  and 
smells,  to  the  information  of  the  other  senses.  Hence, 
instead  of  saying  that  an  orange  is  one  existence,  endued 
with  several  qualities,  I  shall  estimate  it  as  several  ex- 
istences, associated  under  one  name,  orange.  Its  appear- 
ance, I  shall  denominate  the  sight  orange;  its  flavour, 
the  taste  orange ;  its  odour,  the  smell  orange ;  and  its 
consistence,  the  feel  orange.  I  shall  adopt  this  phraseolo- 
gy, not  to  build  thereon  a  theory,  but  to  discriminate  be- 
tween the  information  of  different  senses. 

This  view  of  language  is  novel,  and  requires  amplifi- 
cation. If  I  say  a  shadow  is  one  existence,  I  shall  be 
correct ;  the  word  names  but  one  phenomenon — a  sight. 
Persons  who  are  void  of  vision  can  never  know  the  sig- 
nification of  shadow.  But  if  I  say  solidity  is  one  exist- 
ence, I  shall  be  incorrect ;  the  word  names  two  pheno- 
mena— a  sight  and  a  feel. 

Again :  light  is  one  existence.  The  word  signifies  a 
sight  only.  To  say  that  sunshine  is  one  existence,  is, 
however,  incorrect.  The  word  signifies  both  a  sight  and 
a  feel.  As  a  feel,  the  blind  are  conscious  of  sunshine, 
and  discourse  of  it  as  understanding!)-  as  we  ;  but  when 


18  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [Loc.   1. 

we  hear  the  blind,  we  must  not  permit  the  ambiguity  of 
language  to  delude  us;  the  sight  sunshine  they  can  pos,- 
sess  no  knowledge  of — they  speak  of  the  feel. 

Words  which  name  thus  a  sight  and  a  feel  are  numer- 
ous :  among  them  are  figure,  magnitude,  distance,  and 
extension.  I  can  see  that  the  surface  of  this  table  pos- 
sesses extension,  or  I  can  trace  the  surface,  and  feel  ex- 
tension. I  can  see  that  the  table  has  magnitude,  or  I 
can  clasp  it,  and  feel  the  magnitude.  I  can  see  that  our 
fire-place  is  distant,  or  I  can  walk  towards  it,  and  thus 
feel  distance.  These  truths  are  evident,  and  you  may 
wonder  at  their  enunciation  ;  yet,  so  prone  are  we  to  dis- 
regard what  is  obvious,  that  the  simple  property  which 
permits  a  word  to  name  phenomena  of  different  senses, 
has  enabled  theorists  to  convert  the  realities  of  life  into  a 
fairy-tale. 

A  universally  admitted  speculation  of  this  character  is, 
that  distance,  magnitude,  figure,  and  extension,  are  not 
visible.  This  was  originally  suggested  by  Bishop  Berk- 
ley. He  perceived  that  there  are  in  roundness  two  phe- 
nomei/a — a  sight  and  a  feel ;  while  there  is  but  one  name — 
roundness.  The  unity  which  exists  in  the  name  he  attri- 
buted to  nature;  hence,  he  decided  that  the  feel  is  the 
true  roundness,  and  that  the  sight  possesses  only  an  ima- 
ginary significance,  from  its  uniform  conjunction  with  the 
feel. 

Saint  Pierre  states,  that  a  philosopher,  who  lost  his 
sight  by  gazing  at  the  sun,  imagined  that  the  darkness 
which  ensued  proceeded  from  a  sudden  extinction  of  the 
sun.  This  ingenious  sarcasm  is  frequently  applicable  to 
human  conclusions.  Thus  Berkley  never  imagined  that 
invisibility  was  prcdicablc  of  roundness  by  means  of  a  la- 


LeC,   1.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  19 

tent  ambiguity  in  language ;  but  he  accused  vision  with 
the  production  of  a  delusion. 

When  we  look  at  roundness,  we  know  immediately  the 
feel  which  it  can  produce.  This  knowledge  is  derived 
from  experience,  for  seeing  can  never  inform  us  of  a  feel ; 
still,  why  should  we  mysterize  a  simple  truth,  which  is 
applicable  not  only  to  the  sights  and  feels  that  constitute 
figure,  magnitude,  distance  and  extension,  but  to  every 
other  sight  and  feel  ?  Instead  then  of  asserting  enigma- 
tically with  Berkley,  that  the  feel  alone  is  the  true  round- 
ness, and  the  sight  a  deception;  Ictus  say,  that  round- 
ness names  two  existences — a  sight  and  a  feel ;  which, 
though  dissimilar  phenomena,  are  so  frequently  associa- 
ted, that  where  the  sight  is  exhibited,  the  feel  is  expected. 

The  doctrine  of  Berkley  is,  however,  frequently  coun- 
tenanced by  the  admission  of  the  blind.  Rees'  Cyclo- 
pedia* records  a  sudden  acquisition  of  sight  by  a  person 
who  had  been  always  destitute.  "  When  he  had  learned 
to  distinguish  bodies  by  their  appearance,  he  was,  (says 
the  narrator,)  surprised  that  the  apparent  prominences  of 
a  picture  were  level  to  the  touch." 

Why?  Because  his  instructors  had  shown  him  the 
sight  to  which  the  name  prominence  belongs  ;  and,  mis- 
led by  language,  he  supposed  the  sight  prominence  and 
the  feel  were  identical ;  consequently,  when  he  saw  in  a 
picture  the  sight  prominence,  he  expected  to  realize  the 
feel  also  ;  and,  being  disappointed,  he  asked  which  sense 
deceived  him  ?  It  was  neither  sense — it  was  language. 

In  the  Gentlemen's  Magazine  of  July,  1796,  published 
in  London,  another  blind  person  testifies  that  figure  is  not 

*  Title  Philosophy. 


20  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [Lee.  1. 

visible.  "  When  he  first  acquired  sight,  he  knew  not  one 
shape  from  another."  Related  thus,  the  fact  excites  as- 
tonishment'; yet  it  signifies  only  that  he  knew  not  the 
names  of  the  sights  which  he  was  then  first  beholding. 
In  one  of  the  dramas  of  Shakspearc,  a  fanatic  is  arrest- 
ed for  asserting  that  he  has  just  been  miraculously  cured 
of  blindness.  The  king,  after  showing  him  a  scarlet 
cloak,  and  desiring  him  to  name  the  colour,  orders  him 
to  announce  the  name  of  an  officer  who  is  near  him.  The 
restored  blind  man  cannot.  Then,  says  the  king,  you  are 
an  impostor,  or  the  name  of  scarlet  would  be  also  un- 
known to  you. 

Still,  that  a  man  who  has  just  acquired  vision,  cannot 
recognise  familiar  shapes,  is  somewhat  unexpected.  Co- 
lour names  a  sight  only,  and  therefore  is  obviously  un- 
known to  the  blind  ;  but  shape  names  a  sight  and  a  feel : 
hence  we  suppose  that  the  two  phenomena  arc  identical, 
and  that  the  heretofore  blind  man  to  whom  the  feel  is  fa- 
miliar, can  select  it  by  seeing. 

Professor  Reid,  in  his  Inquiry  on  the  Mind*,  states, 
"  that  a  young  man,  who  was  couched  by  Chesseldon, 
thought  at  first  that  every  thing  he  saw  touched  his  eyes." 

This  is  supposed  to  manifest  the  invisibility  of  distance. 
But  what  did  the  young  man  mean  ?  Seeing  can  inform 
me  when  my  hand  touches  the  table,  and  feeling  also  can 
inform  inc.  The  word  names  then  a  sight  and  a  feel. 
The  young  man  was  opening  his  eyes  for  the  first  time, 
hence  he  could  no  more  know  by  name  the  sight  touch, 
than  he  could  the  sight  scarlet.  lie  meant  by  the  word 
touch,  what  during  his  blindness  lie  had  meant — a  feel. 

*   Chap.  <»,  Sect    3 


LeC.  1.]  OB,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  21 

He  knew  no  way  to  discover  exterior  existences,  but  by 
feeling,  smelling,  tasting,  or  hearing;  consequently,  he 
supposed  that  his  eyes  operated  by  one  of  these  methods. 
His  expression  was  merely  an  hypothesis  to  account  for 
the  intelligence  of  his  new  organs.  If  a  person  should 
suddenly  acquire  feeling,  he  would  probably  say  that  every 
thing  which  he  touched  was  seen  by  his  fingers.  Some- 
thing similar  did  occur :  a  man  who  had  been  deaf  from 
his  birth,  acquired  hearing  by  a  surgical  operation.  His 
first  expressions  intimated  that  his  ears  saw  the  sound 
which  they  announced. 

Paintings,  also,  arc  thought  to  prove  that  figure,  dis- 
tance, and  magnitude  arc  invisible.  "  When  I  look  at  a 
book,"  says  Professor  Reid,  "  it  seems  to  possess  thick- 
ness, as  well  as  length  and  breadth ;  but  we  are  cer- 
tain that  the  visible  appearance  has  no  thickness,  for  it  can 
be  represented  exactly  on  a  flat  piece  of  canvass." 

I  am  as  certain  as  Mr.  Reid  that  paintings  possess  not 
the  feel  thickness ;  still,  this  is  no  contradiction  of  what  I 
see.  The  picture  proves  only  that  the  sight  thickness 
and  the  feel  are  not  always  associated.  The  young  man 
who  was  couched  by  Chesscldon,  would  not  have  expect- 
ed, from  the  appearance  of  thickness,  that  it  was  ever 
associated  with  the  feel,  any  more  than  he  would  have 
expected,  from  the  appearance  of  red  hot  iron,  that  his 
hand  could  not  endure  collision  with  the  iron. 
->u  Again  :  when  I  look  at  a  picture,  one  part  appears  re- 
mote and  another  near,  yet  they  arc  eqm-distant,  and  dif- 
fer in  colouring  only.  This  proves  not,  however,  that  dis- 
tance is  invisible  ;  but  that  the  sight  distance  and  the  feel 
are  two  existences  which  arc  sometimes  disconnected. 
From  the  frequency  with  which  the  sight  and  the  feel  arc 


22  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  J       [LoC.   1, 

associated,  we  have  given  them  one  name,  and  suppose 
them  identical ;  but  pictures  would  have  always  taught  us 
the  contrary,  if  we  had  not  preferred  the  construction  of 
a  paradox. 

I  have  now  said  more  perhaps  than  sufficient  to  eluci- 
date the  position,  that  figure,  magnitude,  distance,  and  ex- 
tension are  not  visible.  They  are  invisible,  because  we 
restrict  the  names  to  the  feels.  It  is  the  feel  figure,  the 
feel  distance,  and  the  feel  magnitude  that  are  not  visible. 
The  position  is  a  quibble  instead  of  a  philosophical  disco- 
very. But  to  explain  this  quibble  was  not  the  motive  for 
its  investigation.  I  examined  it  to  exemplify  that  a  word 
names  sometimes  a  plurality  of  existences,  and  that  an 
ignorance  of  this  latent  ambiguity  produces  many  specu-^ 
lative  errors.  For  a  like  reason,  permit  me  to  adduce 
another  speculation,  which  originated  from  the  same  am- 
biguity. It  possesses  three  branches,  of  which  the  first 
is,  that  seeing,  tasting,  smelling,  and  hearing  can  yield 
no  intimation  that  there  exists  an  external  universe. 

The  word  external,  names  usually  a  sight  and  a  feel.  If 
I  look  at  this  table,  I  discover  the  sight  external ;  if  I 
touch  the  table,  I  realize  the  feel.  When  we  speak  of 
external,  we  should,  therefore,  explain  to  which  we  allude, 
to  the  sight  or  the  feel.  This  ambiguity  was  discovered 
by  Locke.  He  supposed,  however,  there  was  rio  alterna- 
tive but  to  select  one  as  the  real  external,  and  to  brand 
the  other  as  a  deception.  He  yielded  the  pre-eminence 
to  the  feel :  a  decision  which  succeeding  philosophers  have 
invariably  respected. 

Seeing,  therefore,  cannot  inform  us  that  there  exists 
an  external  universe  ;  because  we  restrict  the  signification 
of  the  word  external  tu  the  phenomena  of  feeling  :  the  pro- 


LeC.  1.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE  23 

position,  when  announced  correctly,  means  only  that  see- 
ing will  not  inform  us  of  a  feel. 

The  puzzle  is  susceptible  of  another  elucidation.  What 
is  the  external  universe?  A  mass  of  existences.  The 
table  before  me  is  one.  But  do  I  allude  to  the  sight  table 
or  the  feel  ?  Table,  though  a  unity  in  language,  is  two 
existences.  The  feel  table  is  familiar  to  the  blind,  but 
the  sight  table  is  so  dissimilar,  that  were  a  blind  man  to 
suddenly  obtain  vision,  he  would  be  unable  to  select  there- 
by a  table  from  the  carpet  on  which  it  stands. 

Like  remarks  are  applicable  to  nearly  every  part  of  the 
external  universe.  There  is  a  sight  candle  and  a  feel 
candle ;  a  sight  chair  aftd  a  feel  chair.  If  now  we  re- 
strict the  word  candle  to  the  feel,  we  may  contend  that 
seeing  cannot  inform  us  of  the  existence  of  candles.  This 
restriction  philosophers  accordingly  impose  on  all  words 
which  name  external  existences :  hence  the  paradox  that 
seeing  cannot  discover  them. 

"The  table  which  we  see,"  says  Hume*,  "  seems  to  di- 
minish as  we  recede  from  it ;  but  the  real  table  suffers  no 
diminution."  Here  the  real  table  is  evidently  intended 
to  designate  the  feel  ;  while  the  table  which  diminishes, 
and  is  deemed  deceptions,  is  the  sight. 

In  the  paradox  under  discussion,  I  have  spoken  of  that 
part  only  which  asserts  that  seeing  cn.-.not  teach  us  the 
existence  of  an  external  universe.  This  part  is  the  most 
paradoxical,  because  external  is  usually  the  name  of  a 
sight  as  well  as  of  a  feel  ;  still  we  experience  some  per- 
plexity when  we  are  told  that  hearing,  tasting,  and  smell- 
ing cannot  inform  us  of  un  external  universe.  An  instance 

*  Essay  on  Skeptical  Philosophy,  boct.  !:>. 


24  'THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [Lcc.   1. 

of  this  mil  appear  in  the  following  quotations*.  "  If  any 
man  will  stand  blindfolded  in  the  middle  of  a  room,  and 
allow  his  most  intimate  friend  to  walk  repeatedly  round 
him  without  speaking,  and  afterwards  to  stand  still  and  ad* 
dress  him,  he  will  not  know,  in  several  trials,  the  position 
of  the  speaker." 

When  we  resolve  the  above  information  into  sensible 
phenomena,  it  amounts  to  an  intimation  that  hearing 
cannot  inform  us  of  a  sight  and  a  feel.  The  word  position 
is  a  name  of  these,  and  the  author  intended  so  to  employ 
it.  Still  position  is  not  obviously  a  sight  and  a  feel  only  ; 
and  hence  is  not  known  to  be  undiscoverable  by  hearing. 
If,  however,  we  wish  to  teach  a  child  the  signification  of 
position,  we  shall  be  unable  except  by  the  agency  of  either 
seeing  or  feeling.  We  may  know  from  experience  the 
position  of  a  sound,  but  all  that  hearing  discloses  is  the 
sound.  If  a  man  should  deafen  his  ears  with  cotton,  and 
be  surrounded  by  persons  who  move  their  lips,  he  will  not 
know,  by  looking  at  them,  whether  they  articulate  or  feign. 
This  would  not  constitute  an  interesting  experiment ;  still 
it  differs  not  from  the  former,  except  that  articulation  is 
known  to  name  a  sound,  and  therefore  to  be  undiscovera- 
ble by  seeing  ;  while  position  is  not  obviously  a  sight  and 
a  feel  only,  and  hence  is  not  evidently  undiscoverable  by 
hearing. 

The  writer  continues :  "  We  might  have  had  sensa- 
tions of  taste,  without  the  application  of  sapid  substan- 
ces to  the  palate;  for  nothing  is  more  common  than  to 
experience  a  taste,  without  an  ability  to  ascribe  it  to  an 
external  cause." 

*  New  Edinburgh  Encyclopedia,  Tit.  Metaphysics. 


L.6C.   l.J  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  25 

He  intends  to  prove  that  tasting  cannot  inform  us  of 
an  external  universe.  If  the  word  external  means  any 
thing  which  is  not  a  taste,  the  position  is  evident.  It  ex- 
emplifies, however,  the  sophistry  to  which  we  are  liable, 
when  we  designate  sensible  information  by  other  names 
than  sights,  sounds,  tastes,  feels,  and  smells.  To  an* 
nounce  that  tasting  cannot  teach  us  a  sight  and  a  feel, 
would  be  insufferably  simple ;  yet  it  is  precisely  what  ap- 
pears momentous,  when  we  say  that  tasting  cannot  in- 
form us  of  an  external  universe. 

That  external  does  not  designate  a  taste,  may  be 
evinced  by  the  inability  of  tastes  to  teach  a  child  the  sig- 
nification of  external.  He  will,  however,  easily  compre- 
hend its  meaning,  if  you  operate  on  the  senses  to  whose 
phenomena  the  word  refers.  Delineate  a  circle,  and 
write  therein  the  figure  2,  and  place  without  the  figure  3, 
he  can  immediately  learn  that  the  position  of  2  is  inter- 
nal, and  the  position  of  3  external :  or  place  his  hand  in 
a  tankard,  and  thereby  teach  him  the  feel  internal,  and 
the  feel  external.  External  is,  therefore,  a  sight  and  a 
feel ;  hence  tasting  cannot  discover  it. 

I  think  Professor  Reid  says,  "  if  we  enter  a  room  and 
observe  a  collection  of  roses,  we  readily  attribute  the  fra- 
grance that  we  inhale  to  the  roses;  but,"  continues  he, 
"  if  instead  of  roses  we  should  perceive  a  range  of  closed 
jars,  we  should  be  unable  to  determine  from  which  jar  the 
odour  issues." 

He  wishes  to  prove  that  smelling  cannot  inform  us  of 
an  external  universe ;  and  that  experience  only  enables 
us  to  know  that  odours  proceed  from  external  objects. 
His  doctrine  is  correct,  but  it  assumes  an  unnecessary 
mystery.  Smelling  cannot  take  cognizance  of  a  sight  or 

4 


26  THE    PHILOSOPHV    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;         [LeC.   1. 

a  feel ;  and  when  external  ia  thus  resolved,  all  mystery 
vanishes. 

By  restricting  the  word  external  to  the  phenomena  .of 
feeling,  philosophers  prove  not  only  that  seeing,  tasting, 
smelling,  and  hearing,  cannot  inform  us  of  an  external 
world;  hut  that  nothing  which  is  intactible  constitutes 
any  part  of  external  objects.  Sweetness,  say  they,  is  no 
part  of  sugar ;  whiteness  no  part  of  snow ;  and  fragrance 
no  part  of  a  lily.  They  persevere  in  a  similar  exclusion 
from  all  objects;  and  this  constitutes  the  second  branch  of 
the  paradox.  I  « 

We  must  not  suppose  that  Locke  or  Des  Cartes,  with 
whom,  these  assertions  originated,  intended  to  propagate 
a  deception.  They  perceived  that  the  word  sugar  im- 
plies but  one  existence  while  it  exhibits  three  existencies, 
a  sight,  a  taste,  and  a  feel.  Instead,  however,  of  attri- 
buting the  disagreement  between  the  unity  of  the  word 
sugar,  and  the  plurality  of  the  phenomena,  to  a  latent  so- 
phistry in  language,  they  accused  the  senses  of  a  delu- 
sion. 

We  will  examine  the  positions  separately.  What  is 
sugar?  Usually  the  name  of  a  sight,  a  feel,  and  a  taste. 
If  we  restrict  the  word  to  the  feel,  we  may  safely  pro- 
nounce that  sweetness  is  no  part  of  sugar.  Touch  it,  I 
may  say,  and  be  convinced.  Whatever  is  truly  in  the 
sugar,  you  can  feel.  There  is  hardness,  figure,  texture, 
and  mobility  ;  but  nothing  like  sweetness. 

When  we  know  that  philosophers  restrict  thus  the  sig- 
nification of  sugar  to  the  phenomena  of  feeling,  their  con- 
clusion becomes  grossly  evident.  No  man  imagines  he 
can  feel  sweetness  ;  yet  this  is  all  that  their  position  pur- 
ports. 


}  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  27 

Let  us  consider,  says  Locke,  the  red  and  white  in  por- 
phyry ;  "  hinder  light  from  approaching,  and  the  colours  of 
porphyry  vanish.  But,"  continues  lie,  "  can  any  person 
think  that  any  alteration  is  thus  made  in  porphyry ;  and 
that  redness  and  whiteness  are  really  in- it,  in  the  light, 
and  not  in  the  dark  ?  It  has  indeed  such  particles  as  are 
apt,  by  the  rays  of  light  -rebounding  from  some  part  of 
that  hard  stone,  to  produce  in  us  the  idea  of  whiteness ; 
and  from  other  parts  the  idea  of  redness  :  but  neither  red- 
ness nor  whiteness  is  in  it  at  any  time." 

r^,    What  is  porphyry  ?     In  the  language  of  Locke,  it  is  a 
hard  stone.       Here    is    an    elucidation   of  the  mystery  : 

\  Locke  restricts -the  name  to  the  hard  stone,  to  the  feel  : 
hence  the  presence  and  absence  of  light  produce  no  altera- 
tion in  the  porphyry,  and  whiteness  and  redness  are  not 
\  in  it  :  that  is,  they  are  no  part  of  the  feel.  Even  so  insignifi- 
cantly can  speak  a  wise  man,  when  he  does  not  discrimi- 
nate between  the  information  of  different  senses. 

To  strike  on  a  drum,  and  assert  that  the  sound  consti- 
tutes no  part  of  the  drum,  will  be  admitted  by  most  per- 
sons; for  the  word  drum,  names  usually  only  a  sight  and 
a  feel :  but  if  I  inquire  whether  sound  constitutes  any 
part  of  thunder,  the  question  embarrasses.  With  most 
men,  thunder  is  the  name  of  a  sound,  to  subtract  which 
makes  the  word  insignificant.  Some,  however,  vanquish 
this  difficulty  even.  The  word  thunder  they  resolve  into 
other  words,  then  they  can  deny  that  the  sound  constitutes 
any  part  of  thunder — that  is,  the  sound  forms  no  part  of 
their  definition. 

After  philosophers  determine  that  the  phenomena  of 
feeling  alone  constitute  every  external  object,  and  that 
colour  is  no  part  thereof,  they  inquire  whom  colour  ex- 


26  •  THE  PHILOSOPHY  O»   HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE;  (_LeC.   1. 

ists  ?  Before  we  reply,  it  is  well  to  know  -whether  the 
answer  must  be  verbal.  If  you  ask  me  the  appearance 
of  my  hand,  you  will  concede  that  a  display  of  the  hand 
is  the  best  information.  If  you  demand  whether  my  hand  ' 
is  hard,  the  submission  of  it  to  your  touch  is  the  most  con- 
clusive solution.  But  when  you  ask  where  colour  is,  you 
deem  it  a  poor  reply  to  bo  shown  the  colour,  and  told  that 
it  is  where  you  see.  You  touch  the  place,  and  say  colour 
is  not  here.  Nothing  is  here,  but  figure,  extension,  and 
texture. 

This  dissatisfaction  is  highly  significant ;  and  as  it  elu- 
cidates the  paradox  that  colour  constitutes  no  part  of  an 
external  object,  we  will  slightly  discuss  it.     The  appear- 
ance of  my  hand  is  a  sight :  hence  you  deem  the  ques- 
tion that  relates  to  its  appearance  well  answered  by  see- 
ing the  hand.     The  hardness  of  my  hand  is  a  feel :  hence  ; 
to  touch  it  is  the  best  elucidation  of  its  consistence ;  but 
when  you   ask   where  colour    is,    the    word  where    is  a| 
sight  and  a  feel ;  therefore  to  see  the  colour  is  an  unsa-/ 
tisfactory  answer.     You  allude  to  the  feel  where.      But! 
the  feel  is  not  applicable  to  colour  ;  and   when  I  direct* 
your  hand  to  it,  you  justly  exclaim  that  the  colour  is  not  \ 
there.     I  can  feel,  say  you,  solidity,  extension,  and  tex-  ! 
ture,  but  nothing  that  resembles  colour. 

To  dispel  the  ambiguity  of  the  question  which  inquires 
after  the  location  of  colours,  we  must,  therefore,  under- 
stand that  the  word  place,  with  all  its  concomitants,  here, 
there,  where,  «fcc.  is  the  name  of  two  phenomena — a 
sight  and  a  feel.  If  we  converse  metaphysically  of  loca- 
tion without  attending  to  this  distinction,  we  shall  involve 
ourselves  in  a  comedy  of  errors ;  nor  are  the  Dromio  of 
Ephesus  and  the  Dromio  of  Syracuse  more  diverse  ex- 
istences than  the  feel  place  and  the  sight  plarc. 


LeC.   l.J  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  2U 

_As  philosophers  restrict  external  objects  to  the  pheno- 
mena of  feeling,  and  thus  prove  that  flavour,  odour,  sound, 
nor  colour,  constitute  any  part  of  external  objects  ;  so 
they  limit  the  signification  of  sugar,  and  every  other  ex- 
ternal object,  to  a  few  onl)  of  the  phenomena  of  feeling, 
and  exclude  hardness,  temperature,  roughness,  and  other 
feels.  This  constitutes  the  last  branch  of  the  paradox. 

Every  external  object  produces  not  one  feel  only,  but 
several.  When  I  touch  a  piece  of  wax  I  can  experi- 
ence smoothness,  weight,  tenacity,  external,  mobility, 
temperature,  substance,  figure,  extension,  and  many  other 
feels,  to  which  also  we  have  given  distinct  appellations. 
If  we  restrict  the  word  wax  to  a  part  only  of  these  feels — 
to  figure,  extension,  and  substance — we  can  confidently 
assert  that  the  other  feels  constitute  no  part  of  wax. 
They  are,  I  can  say,  sensations  which  the  wax  excite?, 
but  they  are  not  in  the  wax  :  that  is,  they  are  not  includ- 
ed in  the  phenomena  to  which  I  restrict  the  signification 
of  wax. 

While  philosophers  are  discussing  the  number  of  phe- 
nomena which  the  name  wax  shall  embrace,  they  ima- 
gine that  the  discussion  penetrates  deeply  into  the  arcana 
of  nature ;  though  truly  it  relates  to  language  alone. 
Phenomena  exist  precisely  as  we  discover  them,  and  all 
the  control  which  we  possess  is  to  comprehend  them  un- 
der such  names  as  we  deem  expedient.  When  estimated 
thus,  it  may  be  useful  to  debate  whether  hardness  consti- 
tutes any  part  of  iron,  or  tenacity  any  part  of  wax  ;  but 
to  suppose  the  inquiry  is  an  investigation  of  nature,  is  as 
erroneous  as  to  suppose  that  we  are  deciding  the  charac- 
ter and  fortunes  of  our  children  when  we  are  deliberating 


30  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LcC.    1  . 

whether  to  call  them  Cleopatra  or  Lucretia,  Arnold  or 
Washington. 

"  When  I  am  opposite  to  fire,"  says  Locke,  "  I  feel 
heat ;  when  I  approach  I  feel  greater  heat  ;  when  I  ad- 
vance nearer  I  feel  pain.  "  Why  then,"  continues 
Locke,  "  do  we  not  think  that  pain  is  in  fire  as  well  as 
heat  ?" 

He  wishes  to  prove  that  neither  is  in  the  fire,  and  no- 
thing can  be  more  easily  accomplished.  Fire,  when  re- 
stricted to  the  phenomena  of  feeling,  is  usually  a  name 
of  the  feel  heat,  the  feel  burn,  the  feels  solidity,  external, 
and  some  others  :  hence  heat  is  in  the  fire — that  is,  we 
include  it  among  the  phenomena  to  which  the  name  fire 
is  applied.  But  if  we  restrict  the  word  to  the  feels  soli- 
dity, substance,  external,  and  figure,  we  can  maintain 
that  heat  is  not  in  the  fire. 

Professor  Reid  states  a  similar  proposition  :  '<  If  you 
recline  against  a  stone,  you  will  feel  hardness  ;  if  you 
press  against  it,  you  will  feel  pain  :  why  then,"  he  asks, 
"  do  you  riot  affirm  that  pain  is  in  the  stone  as  well  as 
hardness  f" 

He  adduces  the  argument  to  prove  that  hardness  is 
not  .in  the  stone:  and  doubtless  with  him  it  is  not.  He 
says  that  nothing  is  truly  in  the  stone  but  figure,  sub- 
stance, and  texture.  This  elucidates  sufficiently  why 
hardness  is  not  therein.  Substance  also  mi<rht  be  ex- 

O 

eluded,  if  he  would  banish  it  from  his  definition. 

An  inattention  to  the  principle  of  language  that  I  have 
endeavoured  to  designate,  has  produced  more  errors  than 
many  volumes  can  comprehend  ;  yet  I  will  intrude  upon 
you  an  enumeration  of  only  one.  additional  class.  This 
relntesto  the  <reiicrnlly  rorrived  impression  flint  the*  sense- 


l.J  OK,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  31 

arc  fallacious.  If  we  thrust  a  stick  into  water,  and 
leave  a  part  of  its  length  uri immersed,  the  stick  will  ap- 
pear crooked,  which  we  are  told  is  a  fallacy  of  the  senses  ; 
for  the  stick  is  straight.  Crooked  is  supposed  to  name 
but  one  existence,  though  it  names  two — a  sight  and  a 
feel.  The  sight  crooked  and  the  feel,  possess  no  identi- 
ty except  the  name,  by  which  we  confound  them.  True, 
they  are  generally  associated,  but  if  we  hence  infer  that 
they  are  identical,  or  even  that  they  never  exist  disjunc- 
tively, we  must  blame  our  inexperience.  The  senses 
would  always -have  taught  us  the  separability  of  the  sight 
crooked  from  the  feel,  if  we  had  thrust  a  stick  into  wa- 
ter. They  are  no  more  chargeable  for  our  erroneous 
conclusions  in  this  particular,  than  they  would  he  if  we 
had  never  seen  any  black  body  but  what  would  discolour 
our  hands,  and  should  thence  believe  (as  I  have  known 
some  children,)  that  the  discolouration  is  a  necessary  con- 
sequence of  blackness. 

If  you  half  till  with  cotton  wool  a  wineglass,  and  im- 
merse it  (in  a  reversed  position)  in  a  bowl  of  water,  the 
cotton  will,  on  slowly  emerging  the  glass,  appear  wet, 
while  to  the  feel  it  will  be  dry.  We  may  exhibit  this  ex- 
periment as  another  fallacy  of  our  senses  ;  but  such  a  use 
of  the  experiment  will  be  rather  another  instance  of  the 
latent  sophistry  of  language.  Wet  is  a  sight  and  a  feel, 
two  phenomena,  though  they  possess  but  one  name.  The 
sight  wet  and  the  feel  are  frequently  associated,  but  that 
they  are  not  inseparable,  the  experiment  in  questioji  will 
demonstrate. 

Again  :  by  a  slight  'pressure  on  one  of  my  eyes,  I  can 
see  two  candles,  where  feeling  certifies  there  is  but  one. 
This  also  is  deemed  a  deception,  for  we  assume  that  the* 


32  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  J        ^Lec.  I. 

sight  candle  and  the  feel  arc  identical,  though  experi- 
ence would  always  have  taught  us  that  the  two  phenomena 
are  separable  by  a  slight  pressure  on  one  of  our  eyes.  If 
I  write  at  a  table  on  which  there  are  two  candles,  my  pen 
produces  two  shadows.  If  a  third  candle  be  lighted,  the  pen 
will  produce  three  shadows.  Why  do  we  not  esteem  the 
multiplication  of  the  shadows  a  deception,  as  well  as  the 
multiplication  of  the  candles  ?  Because  the  word  sha- 
dow names  a  sight  only,  while  candle  designates  a  sight 
and  a  feel,  which  hence  we  assume  to  be  identical ;  and 
when  the  sight  is  multiplied  without  the  feel,  we  suppose 
that  seeing  deceives  us. 

Seeing  is  most  obnoxious  to  the  charge  of  deception, 
but  feeling  is  not  wholly  exempt.  If  you  place  across 
each  other  the  third  and  fourth  fingers  of  any  one's  right 
hand,  and  rest  the  tips  of  those  fingers  on  a  bullet,  the 
person  will  suppose  that  he  is  touching  two  bullets.  Here 
also  the  senses  are  innocent.  Two,  when  applied  to  bul- 
lets, designates  a  sight  and  a  feel.  The  feel  is  so  seldom 
discoverable  without  the  sight,  that  we  suppose  them 
identical.  But  feeling  can  never  inform  us  of  the  sight 
two.  The  sight  and  the  feel  are  different  existences, 
which  the  experiment  shows  may  be  disconnected. 

Finally,  we  may  come  to  this  conclusion,  that  whatA 
any  sense  informs  me  of,  no  one  or  more  of  my  other  senses 
can  reveal  to  me.  This  position  seems  to  violate  the  ex- 
perience of  every  moment ;  still  all  violations  may  be  re- 
conciled by  an  investigation  of  language.  When  I  look 
across  this  table,  seeing  informs  me  that  there  exists  no 
impediment  to  the  extension  of  my*  arm.  This  informa- 
tion feeling  also  can  give  me  :  hence  both  seeing  and  feel- 
ing seem  to  vield  the  same  information  :  but  when  we  IT 


l.j  uR,    A     IKE  A  USE    oN    kA.NUi  A«.i..  "•' 

solve  the  information  into  the  phenomena  which  give  it 

significancy,  we  shall  find  that  seeing  informs  us  of  a 

I    sight,  and  feeling  of  a  feel  :• — two  existences  which  cannot 

\l    be  identical.      Experience  alone  enables  us  to  determine, 

/  xby  vision,  that  my  arm  will  meet  with  no  obstruction. 

Again,  a  physician  may  say  that  seeing  informs  him  of 
the  approaching  dissolution  of  his  patient,  and  that  the 
sick  man's  pulse  yields  to  feeling  the  same  information. 
But  feeling  announces  nothing,  except  certain  phenomena 
which  experience  evinces  precede  death  ;  and  seeing  an- 
nounces another  class  of  phenomena  which  also  precede 
death.  The  information  of  the  two  senses  agree  in  no- 
thing but  in  being  joint  precursors  of  the  same  catastro- 
phe. 

If  the  physician  say  that  death  is  discoverable  by  see- 
ing and  feeling,  the  identity  is  even  in  this  case  verbal. 
Perhaps  every  scnge  can  reveal  some  phenomenon  to 
which  the  word  death  may  be  appropriately  affixed,  so 
that  no  man,  how  defective  soever  his  formation,  may  be 
wholly  ignorant  of  life's  extinction  ;  still  the  information 
of  the  different  senses  is  identical  in  nothing  but  in  the 
name  death  that  is  common  to  the  whole. 

I  hope  that  I  have  now  said  even  more  than  sufficient 
v   |  to  elucidate  the  errors  to  which  we  are  constantly  liable, 
N  by  attributing  to  phenomena  of  different  senses  an  identity 
/Which  exists  truly  no  where  but  in  the  name  by  which  the 
^phenomena  are  designated.     We  call  soundness  one  ex- 
istence, whereas  it  is  two — a  sight  and  a  fee!.     The  like 
may  be  said  in  a   multitude  of  other  cases.     Practically 
but  little  embarrassment  arises  from  thus  transferring  a 
unity  from  language  in  which  it  exists,  to  nature  where 

5 


34  TICK    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;         [LeC.   1. 

it  exists  not ;  but  with  theorists  the  embarrassment  has 
been  fundamental. 

If  what  I  have  advanced  should  shield  you  from  this 
latent  sophistry  of  language,  your  effort  in  listening  to  me 
has  not  been  misemployed,  for  you  have  already  made  no 
inconsiderable  progress  in  the  philosophy  of  human 
knowledge. 


<'.  2.  j  OH,    A     TliFiATlSE    OS     l.\.\<*;VAi.E. 


KKCTUKK    IK 


IN  the  natural  world  those  objects  are  most  abundant 
which  are  oftlie  greatest  necessity  to  the  preservation  of 
life.  So  plentiful  indeed  are  water  and  air,  the  two  great 
requisites  of  vitality,  that  they  are  valueless.  In  the 
moral  world,  also,  qualities  are  pievtilent  in  proportion  as 
they  are  essential  to  the  continuation  of  society. 

The  forbearance  from  homicide,  a  forbearance  which 
constitutes  the  basis  of  society,  has,  from  its  universality, 
not  even  a  name. 

The  analogy  in  this  particular  between  these  two  great 
departments  of  creation,  continues  in  the  objects  which 
are  merely  serviceable,  and  abandons  not  those  which  are 
exclusively  ornamental.  Thus  the  honesty  which  enables 
me  to  leave  my  rooms  unbarred  to  my  domestics,  is  as 
common  as  the  bread  which  supplies  my  table. 

And  when  we  proceed  to  the  diamond,  which  sparkles 
on  the  breast  of  wealth  only,  and  to  the  massive  plate 
which  loads  the  sideboards  of  the  conspicuous  fow :  wo 


«W  THE    FHILOSOPHV    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;    £Lec.  $. 

find  them  compare  in  rareness  with  the  exalted  integrity 
that  spurns  every  indirection,  and  the  scrupulous  truth 
which  bends  to  no  necessity. 

It  is  even  thus  in  the  intellectual  world.  The  know- 
ledge which  is  sufficient  to  direct  our  hands  to  the  pro- 
curement of  the  necessaries  of  life,  is  discoverable  in. the 
most  uneducated  individual ;  while  a  knowledge  either  of 
the  latent  subtlety  of  language,  or  of  the  muscular  mo- 
tions necessary  to  produce  the  portraits  of  Stewart,  arc 
as  rare  as  they  are  unessential  to  the  common  avocations 
of  society. 

Although  then  we  may,  without  any  of  the  information 
thai  I  presume  to  deliver,  remain  abundantly  qualified  for 
the  stations  in  which  Providence  has  placed  us ;  'yet  all 
who  would  correctly  appreciate  the  various  departments 
of  speculative  knowledge;,  can  in  no  way  so  effectually  sc- 
>'ure  the  object  as  by  acquiring  a  deep  knowledge  of  the 
properties  of  language. 

In  the  last  discourse  which  I  had  the  honour  to  deliver, 
I  showed  that  the  same  word  names  frequently  pheno- 
mena of  different  senses;  and  that  much  speculative  er- 
ror is  produced  by  estimating  as  identical,  phenomena  that 
have  no  identity  but  the  name  by  which  we  designate 
rhem  :  for  instance,  we  think  roundness  the  name  of  but 
one  existence,  while  in  truth  it  names  two — a  sight  and  a 
feel. 

In  the  present  discourse  I  shall  attempt  to  show  ano- 
ther essential  property  of  language,  namely  :  Every  word 
is  a  sound,  which  had  no  signification  before  it  was  em^s/ 
ployed  to  name  some  phenomenon,  and  which  even  now 
lias  no  signification  apart  from  the  phenomena  to  which 
it  h?  applied*  William  and  Thomas,  when  spoken  with 


.  2.J  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  ' 

reference  to  two  men,  are  significant  appellations  ;  but 
if  I  apply  these  names  to  nullity,  the  words  partake  im- 
mediately of  the  nothingness  to  which  I  apply  them. 

This  principle,  when  thus  expressed,  seems  obvious ; 
still,  in  practice,  itlias  escaped  the  vigilance  of  the  most 
acute,  and  supplied  metaphysics  with  its  most  perplexing 
doctrines. 

To  detect  sophistry  of  this  description  we  must  again 
resort  to  the  constituents  of  our  knowledge ;  to  sights, 
sounds,  tastes,  feels,  and  smells.  Thus,  take  the  word 
weight — it  names  a  feel.  The  feel  is  abundantly  fami- 
liar* It  is  discoverable  in  a  feather,  in  a  piece  of  lead, 
and  in  nearly  every  object.  The  word  possessed  no  sig- 
nificancy  before  its  introduction  into  language,  and  it 
now  possesses  none  apart  from  the  feel  that  it  designates. 

Admit  then  that  weight  is  the  name  of  a  feel,  and  ob- 
serve how  speciously  I  can  employ  the  word  after  I  divest 
it  of  all  signification  :  thus,  "  many  objects  are  too  small 
to  be  seen  with  the  unassisted  eye ;  and  some  the  most 
powerful  microscope  can  render  but  just  visible  ;  we  may 
therefore  well  believe  that  numerous  atoms  are  so  small 
that  no  microscope  can  reveal  them  :  still  each  must  pos- 
sess colour,  shape,  and  weight." 

Now  observe,  if  weight  names  a  feel,  how  has  the  word 
any  signification  when  we  predicate  it  of  an  atom,  in  which 
confessedly  the  feel  cannot  be  experienced  ?  What  feel  is 
that  which  cannot  be  felt  ?  We  have  subtracted  from  the 
word  all  its  significancy,  and  left  nothing  but  a  vacated 
sound.  It  becomes  weight  minus  weight. 

Again  :  take  the  word  atom — what  is  it  ?  The  name  of 
a  siffht  nnd  a  fool.  T  rnrr  tench  you  its  meaning  only  by 


3§  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;      [LeC.  '2. 

showing  you,  or  -permitting  you  to  feel,  some  very  small 
object,  of  which  thereafter  atom  will  be  a  name.  I  can 
show  that  a  microscope  enables  us  to  see  objects  where 
vision  unassisted  can  discover  nothing.  These  sights  also  . 
1  can  inform  you  are  atoms.  But  when  I  say  there  are 
atoms  which  cannot  be  seen,  I  divest  the  word  of  significa- 
tion. We  may  apply  the  word  atom  to  a  taste,  sound,  or 
smell,  and  speak  of  an  atom  of  taste  or  an  atom  of  sound 
or  smell ;  but  when  we  use  the  word  where  no  phenome- 
non is  discoverable,  it  designates  nothing,  and  is  nothing 
but  the  sound  of  which  it  is  constituted. 

Again  :  colour  is  another  attribute  of  the  atoms  that 
wo  have  been  considering.  What  is  colour  ?  The  name 
of  a  sight.  But  in  the  above  proposition  it  is  used  for 
what  is  admitted  to  be  invisible  :  hence  the  word  is  divest- 
ed of  signification,  and  nothing  remains  but  a  vacant  sound. 
A  man  that  can  neither  be  seen  nor  felt  is  not  a  greater 
nullity  than  an  invisible  colour.  The  defect  is  similar  in 
both  cases  :-~tbe  words  are  divested  of  their  signification. 

\Ve  may  learn  from  even  this  slight  investigation,  that\  / 
words  can  be  deprived  of  intelligence,  and  still  formed 
into  propositions  which  will  not  be  obviously  futile.     We 
are  vigilant  to  detect  any  open  contradiction  in  a  proposi- 
tion, but  we  never  notice  the  latent  contradiction  which 
arises  from  predicating  sensible  phenomena  where  they 
are  confessedly  undiscovcrable  :  thus,  if  it  should  be  af- 
firmed that  an  object  is  heavy  and  not  heavy,  or  visibleN  - 
and  invisible,  all  persons  would  ridicule  the  affirmation  :  /  ^ 

pro->IKi 


but  there  is  no  essential  difference  between  even  such  pro- 
lit  that  cannot  \ 
bo  felt,  and  of  a  colour  that,  cannot  be  seen. 


positions  and  those  which  speak  of  a  weight  that  cannot 


LeC.  2.J  OH,    A    TREATISE   ON    LANGUAGE.  39 

Zeno's  paradox  respecting  motion  is  an  egregious  ex- 
ample of  the  inanity  to  which  we  may  arrive  by  the  above 
misuse  of  language,  even  when  we  pursue  the  most  logi- 
cal deductions.  Thus,  say  that  a  tortoise  is  a  mile  be- 
fore Achilles,  and  that  Achilles  runs  a  hundred  times  faster 
than  the  tortoise,  yet  he  will  never  overtake  it.  Because, 
says  Zeno,  when  Achilles  has  run  the  mile  the  tortoise 
will  have  moved  forward  the  hundreth  part  of  a  mile,  so 
that  it  is  not  yet  overtaken.  Tn  the  same  manner,  whilst 
Achilles  passes  over  the  ten  thousandth  part  of  a  mile, 
the  tortoise  has  moved  on  the  millionth  part  of  a  mile 
and  is  not  yet  overtaken  ;  and  so  on,  ad  infinitum. 

If  we  do  not  esteem  words  as  names  of  sights,  feels,  &c. 
the  conclusion  of  Zeno  is  correct.  The  problem  might, 
have  been  enumerated  among  the  incontestible  discove- 
ries of  antiquity,  if  it  had  not  interfered  too  grossly  with 
the  experience  of  every  moment.  But  though  the  propo- 
sition is  palpably  preposterous,  the  defect  of  its  reason- 
ing has  never  been  explained  ;  nor  is  it  explicable  on  any 
other  principle,  than  that  words  become  insignificant  the 
moment  they  arc  used  where  nophchd1  riena  is  discoverable. 

Let  us  test  the  proposition  by  tn'is  rule.  I.  can  show 
you  that  from  this  point  to  another  is  a  mile ;  and  the 
word  is  then  the  name  of  a  sight  :  or  I  may  tell  you  to 
walk  with  me  to  the  terminating  point,  and  then  the  word 
mile  will  name  a  feel.  A  rnile  is  therefore  the  name  of 
a  sight  and  a  feel. 

•"  When  Achilles  has  run  one  mile,  the  tortoise  is  still 
the  one  hundredth  part  of  a  mile  ahead  of  him."  The 
hundredth  part  of  a  mile  names  an  existence,  which  is  as 
palpable  as  a  mile  ;  hence,  so  far  the  deduction  is  correct, 
and  the  tortoise  is  not  vet  overtaken. 


40  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;      [LeC.  2. 

"  Whilst  Achilles  passes  over  this  hundredth  part  of  a 
mile,  the  tortoise  moves  on  the  ten  thousandth  part  of  u 
mile."  The  ten  thousandth  part  of  a  mile  is  between  six 
and  seven  inches.  It  names  a  sight  and  a  feel ;  hence  the 
process  is  still  faultless,  and  the  tortoise  is  not  yet  over- 
taken. 

"  Whilst  Achilles  passes  over  this  ten  thousandth  part 
of  a  mile,  the  tortoise  moves  on  the  millionth  part  of  a 
mile."  The  millionth  part  of  a  mile  leaves  them  asun- 
der about  the  fifteenth  part  of  an  inch,  which  names  a  real 
existence,  a  sight  and  a  feel ;  hence  there  is  still  no  so- 
phistry— the  tortoise  is  not  yet  overtaken.  But  the  next, 
step  is  a  quibble.  It  affirms,  that  whilst  Achilles  passes 
over  this  millionth  part  of  a  mile,  the  tortoise  moves  on 
the  hundred  millionth  part  of  a  mile,  which  is  a  name 
without  any  corresponding  existence  in  nature,  and  hence? 
the  sophistry  and  quibble.  The  last  step  is  absurd,  not 
from  any  defect  of  logic  ;  but  because  the  words  name  no 
longer  any  sight,  sound,  taste,  feel,  or  smell.  They  have 
become  divested  of  signification. 

The  new  Edinburgh  Encyclopedia,  from  which  the 
problem  is  extracted,,  rays,  "  it  would  not  be  easy  to 
solve  this  quibble  were  we  to  measure  motion  by  space 
merely,  without  taking  in  the  idea  of  time."  But  this 
explication  is  only  the  substitution  of  another  quibble. 
The  proposition  will  be  equally  sophistical  if  you  use  time 
in  the  place  of  space,  or  if  you  join  time  with  space.  The 
tortoise  will  not  be  overtaken  so  long  as  it  is  a  moment 
the  start  of  Achilles  ;  but  when  the  time  which  separates 
them  is  the  hundred  millionth  part  of  an  hour,  the  words 
will  have  no  archetype  among  sensible  phenomena,  and 
^  ill  bo  divested  of  signification. 


LeC.  ?*.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON  LANGUAGE.  41 

The  most  extravagant  assertions  are  often  esteemed 
profound  knowledge,  because  they  are  logically  deduced 
from  admitted  premises  :  but  there  are  no  deductions  more 
logical  than  those  which  we  have  examined  of  Z«no,  and 
which  are  insignificant.  Verbally  there  is  no  limit  to  the 
divisibility  of  matter,  for  every  thing  possesses  two 
halves,  and  when  you  have  divided  it,  each  half  becomes 
immediately  a  whole  endued  with  halves.  To  suppose 
you  can  arrive  at  any  thing  so  small  that  it  will  not  pos- 
ses a  half  is  absurd ;  hence  matter  is  divisible  in  infini- 
tum.  The  conclusion  if  a  correct  deduction  from  the 
premises,  but  like  the  paradox  of  Zeno,  it  arises  from  the 
use  of  words  after  they  have  ceased  from  possessing  any 
signification.  What  is  the  word  half?  I  can  show  you  the 
meaning  if  you  see  me  divide  an  apple ;  or  you  can  feel 
the  meaning  if  you  break  a  stick.  In  one  case  it  names 
a  sight,  in  the  other  a  feel.  Hence  to  use  the  word  half, 
where  it  refers  to  neither  a  sight  nor  a  feel,  is  as  insignifi- 
cant as  the  hundred  millionth  part  of  a  mile  which  sepa- 
rated Achilles  from  the  tortoise.  The  words  in  both  ca- 
ses are  divested  of  meaning. 

But  it  may  be  said,  can  we  not  see  or  feel  an  object  which 
is  so  small  that  we  cannot  see  or  feel  the  half  of  it ;  and 
can  we  not  say  of  such  an  object,  that  the  half  is  less  than 
the  whole  ?  If  there  is  no  sensible  phenomenon  to  which 
the  half  refers,  the  word  will  be  without  any  signification. 
We  may  mean  that  if  the  sight  or  feel  which  we  should 
name  a  half  could  be  produced,  it  would  be  less  than  the 
whole  ;  but,  to  speak  of  the  half  as  an  actual  existence, 
when  the  sight  or  feel  cannot  be  produced,  is  sophistry 
and  error.  As  soon  as  you  divest  words  of  their  conven- 

6 


48  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  J       [LeC.  9. 

tional  signification,  they  return  to  their  pristine  character 
of  unmeaning  sounds. 

I  have  heard  a  company  of  intelligent  persons  deliber- 
ate graiiely  on  the  infinite  divisibility  of  a  drop  of  water  ; 
half  of  a  drop  of  water  says  one  is  water,  for  the  division 
alters  not  chemically  the  nature  of  water,  but  diminishes 
the  quantity  merely.  But  the  half  being  water  may  be 
again  divided,  and  the  residue  will  be  still  water  ;  and  so 
in  infinitum.  The  conclusion  is  regularly  deduced  from 

the  premises,  but  during  the  process  the  word  water  loses 

its  signification.  Water  is  a  narte  given  to  a  sight,  a  feel, 
and  a  taste.  A  water  in  which  these  are  not  discoverable, 
is  water  minus  water — a  vacated  sound.  — ^J 

x..As  you  enlarge  a  circle  its  circumference  approximates 
towards  a  straight  line.  But  there  is  no  limit  to  the  mag- 
nitude of  circles ;  they  may  be  imagined  not  as  large  as 
pur  earth  only,  but  larger  than  the  orbit  described  by  the 
earth  in  its  annual  revolutions.  Still  no  part  of  the  cir- 
cumference can  be  equal  to  a  straight  line ;  for  there  is 
no  proposition  in  mathematics  more  satisfactory,  than  that 
a  straight  line  can  never  constitute  a  circle ;  hence  we  ar- 
rive at  the  conclusion,  that  a  curve  may  expand  in  infini- 
tum without  becoming  straight. 

It  was  in  view  of  this  mathematical  process  that  Hume 
says,  "the  demonstration  of  these  principles  seems  as  un- 
exceptionable as  that  which  proves  the  three  angles  of  a 
triangle  to  be  equal  to  two  right  angles  ;  though  the  latter 
opinion  is  natural  and  easy,  and  the  former  big  with  con- 
tradiction and  absurdity.  Reason  here  seems  to  be  thrown 
into  a  kind  of  amazement,  which,  without  the  suggestion 
of  any  skeptic,  gives  her  a  diffidence  of  herself,  and  of  the 
ground  on  which  she  treads.  She  sees  a  full  light,  but 


LeC.  2.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  43 

h  borders  upon  the  most  profound  darkness.  Between 
them  she  is  so  dazzled  and  confounded,  that  she  cart* 
scarcely  pronounce  with  certainty  concerning  any  object.'1 

But  the  difficulty  vanishes  if  we  consider  the  words  cir* 
cle,  curve,  and  straight  line,  as  names  of  sights  'and  feels, 
and  that  the  words  in  every  case  where  they  are  separa- 
ted from  the  sights  and  feels  are  mere  sounds.  Mathe- 
maticians are  correct  so  long  as  the  words  refer  to  phe* 
nomena ;  but  when  they  speak  of  a  curve  which  can  neither 
be  seen  nor  felt,  it  is  a  curve  minus  curve,  and  the  propo- 
sition is  like  the  problem  of  Zeno. 

What  can  be  more  paradoxical  than  the  universal  be- 
lief that  a  man  sustains  an  atmospheric  pressure  of  four- 
teen tons  ?  Because  a  cubic  inch  of  air  weighs  the  third 
part  of  a  grain,  we  calculate  the  number  of  cubic  inches 
of  air  which  is  in  a  column  of  40  or  50  miles  in  altitude  ; 
and  by  calling  every  inch  the  third  part  of  a  grain,  we  ar- 
rive at  ^the  conclusion  that  every  man  supports  a  pressure 
of  fourteen  tons.  Is  not  this  divesting  the  phrase  four- 
teen tons  of  its  signification  ?  Weight  is  the  name  of  a 
feel,  and  to  use  the  word  where  there  is  no  feel,  is  like 
talking  of  a  tooth-ache  which  cannot  be  felt,  or  of  an  in-- 
audible melody. 

But  is  it  not  demonstrable,  that  the  weight  of  a  column 
of  atmosphere  is  equal  to  the  weight  of  a  column  28  inches 
high  of  mercury  ?  No,  the  experiment  shows  simply  the 
facts  which  are  exhibited.  The  weight  of  the  atmosphere 
is  merely  the  theory  by  which  we  account  for  the  support 
of  the  mercury.  So  far  as  we  use  the  weight  theoreti- 
cally to  give  a  system  to  our  discoveries,  the  use  is  desira- 
ble ;  but  to  deduce  therefrom  that  a  man  sustains  liter- 
ally a  pressure  of  fourteen  tons,  is  to  possess  a  very  erro- 


44  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [Lee.  9. 

neous  opinion  of  language.  The  fourteen  tons  refer  to  no 
existence  but  the  few  phenomena  from  which  the  conclu- 
sion is  deduced  ;  and  so  far  only  as  the  phrase  is  a  name 
of  these,  it  is  significant. 

I  met  lately  with  the  following  speculation,  which 
though  perfectly  logical,  shows  how  idly  we  may  philoso- 
phize when  we  are  ignorant  of  the  property  of  language 
that  I  have  endeavoured  to  display.  "  A  small  piece  of 
sugar  will  sweeten  a  pint  of  water,  consequently  every 
drop  of  the  water  will  contain  some  particle  of  sugar." 

So  far  the  speculation  is  sensible,  the  particle  of  sugar 
which  every  drop  of  water  is  said  to  contain,  refers  to  the 
sweetness  that  is  discoverable  in  the  water.  But  the  theo- 
ry proceeds : — "  if  we  add  a  farther  pint  of  water,  we  shall 
still  be  able  to  discover  sweetness  :  hence  every  drop  of 
both  pints  possesses  some  particle  of  sugar.  The  divisi- 
bility of  the  sugar  is,  however,  not  yet  complete,  because 
if  we  add  another  pint  of  water,  we  shall  discover  that  the 
taste  has  ceased ;  therefore  the  last  pint  must  have  caused 
a  farther  division  of  the  sugar,  or  some  part  of  the  water 
would  continue  sweet." 

There  is  still  no  sophistry.  The  next  step  is,  however, 
delusive.  The  writer  continues  :  "  have  the  particles  of 
sugar  been  now  divided  to  the  extent  of  their  divisibility  ? 
If  they  have,  it  must  proceed  from  a  want  of  power  in  wa- 
ter to  effect  a  farther  division,  and  not  from  a  want  of  mat- 
ter to  be  divided  ;  because  the  last  water  could  not  have  so 
divided  the  particles  that  each  will  not  be  larger  than  the 
half  of  it." 

"  But  is  it  not  gross  vanity  to  suppose,  that  the  power  of 
water  to  divide,  ceases  at  the  moment  when  our  sense  can 
no  longer  discover  the  effects  of  a  division  ?  We  may  as 


2.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE  45 

well  suppose,  that  time  ceases  when  we  fall  into  a  sound 
sleep.  Is  it  not  more  philosophical,  and  does  it  not  give  us 
more  sublime  notions  of  creation,  and  is  it  not  also  more 
agreeable  to  analogy,  to  suppose  that  the  smaller  the  parti- 
cles of  sugar  become  by  division,  the  more  easily  they  will 
be  affected  by  the  dissolvent  quality  of  the  water ;  and  that 
the  water  continues  to  divide  the  particles  so  long  as  there 
are  particles  remaining  ?  But  we  have  shown  that  there  will 
always  be  particles  remaining,  hence  no  quantity  of  water 
can  be  added  without  causing  a  further  division  of  the  su- 
gar* How  infinitely  divided  must  the  sugar  at  length  be- 
come, when  a  small  piece  is  cast  into  a  creek  or  river  ! 
And  if  every  soluble  thing  which  is  thrown  into  the  ocean 
divides  so  that  every  drop  of  the  ocean  contains  some  part 
of  the  dissolved  substance,  what  a  curious  and  vast  va- 
riety of  particles  must  a  drop  of  the  ocean  contain  !" 

In  the  above  there  is  no  weakness  of  argument.  The 
defect  lies  in  the  misuse  of  language.  We  continue  to  em- 
ploy the  words  particle,  sugar  and  division,  long  after  we 
have  subtracted  from  them  every  sensible  existence.  The 
words,  however,  are  nothing  but  names  of  sensible  ex- 
istences ;  and  to  use  the  words  where  the  existences  are 
not  discoverable,  is  to  speak  of  invisible  sights,  inaudible 
sounds,  or  any  other  contradiction.  Such  a  use  of  lan- 
guage is  like  the  trick  of  a  juggler,  who  having  adroitly 
conveyed  a  shilling  from  under  a  candlestick,  talks  of  the 
money  as  still  under  the  candlestick. 

I  have  now,  I  hope,  established  the  assertion  that  words 
have  no  signification  but  as  they  refer  to  phenomena,  and 
that  an  ignorance  of  this  principle  induces  us  to  use  words 
after  their  signification  has  been  subtracted,  and  the  words 
have  thereby  become  insignificant.  It  is  not  my  in  ten- 


46  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [Lee.  f » 

tion  to  apply  this  rule  to  any  theory  or  science.  My  ob- 
ject in  these  Lectures  is  merely  to  establish  principles—- 
their application  I  shall  leave  to  others.  But  as  a  farther 
illustration  of  the  principle,  I  will  adduce  some  examples 
of*  its  abuse  in  the  use  of  the  word  cause.  I  select  this 
word  because  its  abuse  enters  more  deeply  into  metaphy- 
sical errors,  and  has  in  nearly  all  the  sciences  been  more 
fruitful  of  delusion  than  the  same  error  in  the  use  of  any 
other  word. 

'To  teach  a  person  the  meaning  of  the  word  cause,  I 
must  operate  on  some  of  his  senses.  I  can  tell  him  to 
behold  how  I  cause  darkness.  He  looks  and  sees  me  ex- 
tinguish the  candles.  The  word  will  then  have  one  signi- 
fication ;  namely,  the  phenomena  whrch  he  discovers. 
Again  :  I  can  tell  him  to  halloo,  and  it  will  cause  an  echo. 
If  he  ask  what  I  mean  by  causing  an  echo,  I  shall  tell 
him  to  halloo,  and  he  will  discover  my  meaning.  I  can 
teach  him  by  any  other  of  his  senses  the  meaning  of 
cause. 

If  two  billiard  balls  strike,  they  will  rebound.  The 
cause  is  variously  assigned.  Till  lately  every  philosopher 
inculcated,  that  when  the  balls  strike,  there  is  a  dent  pro- 
duced in  each  ball ;  and  that  the  dent  resuming  instantly 
its  rotundity  forces  the  balls  asunder. 

What  is  a  dent  ?  A  sight  and  a  feel.  But  the  dent 
which  is  here  assumed  can  be  neither  seen  nor  felt ;  hence 
the  cause  in  this  case  is  a  word  divested  of  its  signification. 
A  dent  which  our  senses  cannot  perceive  differs  but  in 
sound  from  a  house  which  our  senses  cannot  perceive  : 
both  are  names  of  sensible  phenomena,  and  both  are  un- 
meaning terms,  when  they  are  used  without  a  reference 
to  some  discoverable  existence. 


liftC.  ».}  OR,  A  TREATISE  OW  LANGUAGE.  47 

In  relation  to  the  motion  of  billiard  balls  Professor 
Stewart  says,  "  Some  of  the  ablest  philosophers  in  Eu- 
rope are  now  satisfied,  not  only  that  there  is  no  evidence 
of  motion's  being  produced  by  the  contact  of  two  bodies, 
but  that  proofs  may  be  given  of  the  impossibility  of  such 
a  process  :  hence  they  conclude,  that  the  effects  \vtych 
are  commonly  referred  to  impulse,  arise  from  a  power  of 
repulsion,  extending  to  a  small  and  imperceptible  dis- 
tance round  every  element  of  matter." 

The  billiard  balls  rebound,  theu,  by  virtue  of  a  repul- 
sion, which  operates  at  an  insensible  distance  between  the 
two  balls.  A  repulsion  is, -however,  a  sight  or  a  feel,  or 
both  ;  but  in  the  present  case-it  names  neither,  and  is  a 
sound  divested  of  signification.  We  can  neither  see  the 
repulsion,  nor  feel  it ;  nor  is  it  discoverable  by  any  of  our 
senses.  t  It  is  .a  repulsion  minus  repulsion.  It  operates 
also  at  an  imperceptible  distance.  This  is  precisely  the 
distance  that  for  ever  prevented  Achilles  from  overtaking 
the  tortoise.  But  distance  is  a  sight  and  a  feel ;  and 
when  we  subtract  these,  as  is  done  by  Professor  Stewart, 
the  word  returns  to  the  pristine  insignificance  which  it 
possessed  before  it  was  applied  to  the  purposes  of  lan- 
guage. . 

Let  us  consider,  says  Locke,  how  bodies  produce  ideas 
in  us.  "  It  is  manifestly  by  impulse,  the  only  way  in 
which  bodies  can  operate  :  hence,  if  external  objects  be 
not  united  to  our  mind,  when  they  produce  ideas  therein, 
some  motion  from  the  external  object  must  be  continued 
by  our  nerves  or  animal  spirits  to  the  brain,  there  to  pro- 
duce in  our  minds  the  particular  ideas  which  we  have  of 
the  objects." 


48  TUB  PHILOSOPHY  9F  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [LeC.  2. 

What  is  a  motion  ?  A  sight  or  a  feel.  We  may  speak 
of  an  invisible  and  intact  iblc  piece  of  iron  with  as  much 
propriety  as  of  a  motion  that  is  undiscoverable  by.  our 
senses.  The  defect  is  similar  in  both  cases. 

Again,  says  Locke,  "colour  and  smell  are  pro- 
ducQd  by  similar  motions,  which  are  caused  by  insensible 
particles  operating  on  otir  senses."  Here  not  the  word 
motion  only  is  used,  as  in  the  former  example,  hut  also  the 
word  particles.  The  particles  which  are  moved  arc  as 
insensible  as  the  motion.  The  word  particles  names, 
however^  existences  which  can  generally  be  both  seen  and 
felt.  It  may  be  applied  intelligibly  to  a  sound,  taste  or 
smell ;  but  to  employ  the  word  as  a  name  of  something 
which  none  of  our  senses  can  discover,  is  a  use  that  lan- 
guage cannot  sustain  and  retain  any  significance. 

If  motion  and  particles  were  known  in  the  way  only  in 
which  they  are  employed  by  Locke,  you  could  never  dis- 
close their  meaning  to  any  person.  You  may  as  well  at- 
tempt to  instruct  the  blind  in  the  import  of  scarlet,  as  teach 
another  person  the  signification  of  a  term  that  does  not 
name  a  sight,  feel,  taste,  smell  or  sound.  The  disability 
of  the  blind  proceeds  from  a  destitution  of  the  sense  which 
is  conversant  with  scarlet ;  and  a  disability  arising  from  a 
similar  cause  is  experienced  by  us  in  the  words  motion  and 
particles  when  they  signify  something  that  our  senses  can- 
not discover. 

"  Let  us  now  suppose,"  continues  Locke,  "  that  a  vio- 
let, by  the  impulse  of  such  insensible  particles,  of  peculiar 
figures  and  bulks,  and  by  different  degrees  and  modifica- 
tions of  their  motions,  cause  the  blue  colour  and  sweet 
•cent  of  that  flower  to  be  produced  in  our  mind."  The 
smell  and  colour  of  a  violet  are  therefore  caused  by  an 


Lee.  2.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  49 

impulse  which  can  neither  be  seen  nor  felt;  and  the  ob- 
jects impelled  are  undiscoverable'  particles  that  possess 
invisible  and  intactible  figures  and  bulks,  and  move  with 
various  degrees  of  an  insensible  motion.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  the  study  of  metaphysics  is  difficult,  and  that  the 
common  sense  of  mankind  has  long  ridiculed  it.  You  can 
no  more  subtract  from  a  particle  or  from  motion  its  sen- 
sible qualities,  and  leave  an  entity,  than  you  can  subtract 
them  from  an  orange  or  pine  apple  and  leave  a  fruit.  It 
must  be  a  fundamental  axio.iV  of  philosophy  that  the 
word  cause,  nor  any  other,  can  be  used  significantly,  ex- 
cept as  the  name  of  some  sight,  feel,  taste,  smell,  or 
sound ;  and  we  shall  eradicate  a  mass  of  error  with  which 
every  branch  of  knowledge  is  oppressed  and  disfigured. 
The  phenomena  which  natur  %  Vibits  spontaneously,  or 
which  we  can  by  any  means  <*  .w  her  to  exhibit,  afford 
real  knowledge,  and  the  on  ubjccts  except  revelation 
to  which  we  can  significan  --pp'y  language. 

If  I  release  my  hold  of  a  stone,  it  will  fall  to  "the  earth. 
Natural  Philosophy  asks,  why  the  stone  descends  in  pre- 
ference to  ascending  ?  She  then  proceeds  to  answer  the 
question  by  asserting  that  the  descent  is  caused  by  an  at- 
traction which  exists  in  the  earth. 

We  now  think  that  we  have  gained  much  information. 
We  know  that  needles  rush  to  a  magnet  by  virtue  of  its 
attraction,  and  wo  have  only  to  suppose  a  similar  power 
in  the  earth,  and  the  descent  of  the  stone  is  accounted 
for.  There  is,  however,  tin  essential  diflcicnce  in  the  two 
cases,  and  we  cannot  (though  I  make  this  remark  inci- 
dentally) be  too  thoroughly  acquainted  with  it.  It  will 
yield  us  a  test  by  which  we  may  discriminate  between  the 
realities  of  nature  and  the  .sciences  that  arc  reared  artifi- 

7 


50  TI1K  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LcC.  2 


cially  by  the  ingenuity  of  men.  With  the  descent  of  a 
stone  you  will  be  unable  to  teach  a  person  the  meaning  of 
the  word  cause.  Caused  by  the  earth  ?  he  will  say,  what 
do  you  mean?  I  see  the  stone  fall,  but  I  see  nothing 
more.  There  is  only  one  phenomenon.  Not  so,  bow- 
ever,  with  the  magnet.  I  can  tell  him  to  observe  how 
the  magnet  causes  the  needle  to  move.  He  will  see  the 
motion,  and  that  the  approach  of  the  magnet  is  a  neces- 
sary prelude  ;  farther,  that  the  quiescence  of  the  needle 
is  uniformly  disturbed  by  tfje  advance  of  the  magnet ;  that 
their  conjunction  is  prevented  with  difficulty,  and  their 
separation  produced  by  a  &susible  effort  only.  Here  are 
phenomena  to  which  the.  word  cause  refers  ;  but  when  it 
is  applied  to  the  can!i  the  word  is  divested  of  its  significa- 

tion-  ;.';dx 

Again:  the  word  au       .ion,  when  predicated  of  the 

magnet,  refers  to  a  sight  \d  a  feel.  It  can  be  seen  in 
the  needle's  uniform  attcn  c  on  the  movements  of  a 
magnet;* or  it  can  be  fellt  in  ihc  effort  that  is  necessary 
to  detach  a  needle  from  a  magnet.  But  attraction,  when 
predicated  of  the  earth,  refers  to  no  phenomenon.  It  is 
cognizable  by  none  of  our  senses  :  hence  the  word  is  di- 
vested of  its  signification.  It  becomes  attraction  minus 
attraction.  The  proposition,  therefore,  which  we  have 
been  considering,  errs  in  two  particulars  :  it  uses  the 
word  attraction,  without  intending  that  it  shall  name  any 
sensible  phenomenon  ;  and  it  makes  this  insensible  exist- 
ence the  cause  of  the  descent  of  stones,  hence  using  in- 
sensibly the  word  cause  also. 

If  I  place  in  your  hand  a  piece  of  lead,  and  inquire  if 
you  feel  any  weight,  you  will  answer  uilirmutivcly.  The 
weight  I  shall  tell  you  is  caused  by  the  lead.  The  word 


2.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  51 

cause  is  here  significant.  It  refers  to  the  invariable  real- 
ization of  the  feel,  in  conjunction  with  the  lead  ;  find  to 
its  cessation  on  the  removal  of  the  lead.  But  Natural 
Philosophy  inquires  farther,  and  demands  the  cause  of 
this  feel.  She  answers,  it  is  caused  by  the  earth's  draw- 
ing the  lead  downwards  by  the  force  of  attraction. 

Here  again  the  word  cause  refers  to  no  phenomenon, 
and  is  therefore  divested  of  signification.  When  a  slen- 
der bar  of  steel  struggles  to  touch  a  powerful  magnet,  the 
feel  is  caused  by  the  magnet ;  for  it  ceases  on  the  remo- 
val of  the  magnet,  and  thus  gives  to  the  word  cause  a  sen- 
sible signification :  but  when  we  feel  on  our  hand  the 
pressure  of  a  piece  of  lead,  and  say  that  the  feel  is  caused 
by  the  earth,  the  assigned  cause  refers  to  nothing  :  there 
is  only  one  phenomenon,  and  that  is  the  pressure  of  the 
lead. 

Doctor  Darwin  in  his  Zoonomia  attributes  all  the  phe- 
nomena of  chyrnistry  to  a  specific  attraction  and  a  speci- 
fic repulsion,  which  belong  to  the  sides  and  angles  jof  the 
insensible  particles  of  bodies.  When  the  repulsions  pre- 
dominate, they  cause  the  diffusion  of  light  and  odours,  the 
explosion  of  some  bodies,  and  the  slow  decomposition  of 

,     others  :  but  when  the  attractions  predominate,  they  cause 
crystallization  and  solidity. 

/^**  Attraction,  repulsion,  sides,  and  angles,  are  names  of 
sensible  phenomena  ;  independently  of  which  the  words 
are  as  insignificant  as  any  that  can  be  made  by  throwing 
promiscuously  together  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  We 
find,  however,  that  the  words  alone  arc  made  the  cause 
of  odours,  sounds,  fluidity,  and  explosion.  The  propo- 
sition is  an  instance  as  glaring  as  any  that  can  be  ad- 
duced of  the  absurdities  into  which  oven  the  wisest  men 


:.- 


52  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LCC.  2. 

nre  sure  to  fall  when  they  use   language  for  ottar  pur- 
poses than  to  discourse  of  sensible  existences. 

If  I  look  at  this  piece  of  silk,  I  discover  the  sight  which 
we  call  red.  The  sight  is  caused  by  the  silk.  If  you  de- 
sire to  know  what  I  mean  by  asserting  that  the  silk  causes 
the  sight,  I  can  remove  the  silk,  and  the  sight  will  cease. 
The  woid  cause  has,  therefore,  in  this  case,  a  sensible 
signification. 

But  opticians  carry  the  inquiry  further,  and  ask  what 
causes  the  silk  to  produce  the  sight  which  we  name  red  ? 
The  answer  is,  that  light,  which  appears  to  us  colourless, 
is  composed  of  red,  and  other  gorgeously  coloured  rays. 
That  the  silk  absorbs  from  light  all  its  rays  but  the  red, 
and  that  the  red  rays  arc  reflected  from  the  silk  to  our 
eyes. 

The  phrase  red  rays,  when  used  significantly,  refers  to 
a  sight.  It  is  discoverable  in  a  prismatic  spectrum  ;  but 
here  the  phrase  refers  to  nothing.  The  rays  can  be  nei- 
ther seen  nor  felt ;  nor  are  they  discoverable  by  any  of  our 
senses.  They  arc  rays  minus  rays — :a  word  divested  of 
its  signification,  lied  rays  which  cannot  be  seen,  are 
as  gross  an  incongruity  as  a  pain  which  cannot  be  felt. 
The  error  in  both  cases  is  the  same.  Still,  this  phrase, 
divested  thus  of  its  signification,  is  made  the  cause  of 
redness  :  hence  the  cause  is  nothing  but  a  vacated  sound. 

The  inquiry  is  carried  even  farther,  and  we  arc  asked 
how  the  reflection  of  red  rays  to  our  eyes  enables  us  to 
sec  redness?  The  answer  is,  that  the  red  rays  converge 
on  the  retina  of  our  eyes,  and  form  there  a  very  small 
picture  of  the  piece  of  silk.  It  is  this  picture  which  the 
mind  perceives,  though  we  ignorantly  imagine  that  it  is 
the  distant  piece  of  silk.  A 


.  2.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.      N  53 

The  word  picture  names  usually  a  sight  and  a  feel ; 
hut  here  it  designates  neither.  You  would  in  vain  en- 
deavour to  teach  any  person  the  signification  of  the  word, 
by  referring  him  to  what  is  exhibited  on  the  retina  of  his 
eye.  The  word  picture,  when  thus  used,  becomes  nulli- 
fied. It  refers  to  nothing,  and  is  nothing  but  the  sound 
of  which  it  is  composed.  True,  in  a  dissected  eye,  a  mi- 
niature of  external  objects  may  be  discovered  :  hence  the 
term  is  significant  when  thus  applied;  but  to  persist  in 
the  application  of  the  word  to  a  living  eye,  where  no 
such  piienomcnon  can  be  discovered,  is  to  act  less  signi- 
ficantly than  children  ;  for  when  they  say  that  a  chair 
or  a  stick  shall  be  a  ship,  a  house,  or  a  lady,  they  give  a 
wrong  name  only  to  their  playthings ;  but  when  we  ap- 
ply the  word  picture  where  there  is  no  discoverable  ex- 
istence, we  far  more  emphatically  than  the  children, 
"  give  to  airy  nothing  a  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

Let  me  not,  however,  be  understood  as  decrying  the 
theories  to  which  I  advert.  Many  of  them  can  probably  ne- 
ver be  improved — and  I  fully  appreciate  the  sciences  that 

arc  erected  on  them  ;  still,  let  us  not  confound  the  works  of 

-  •  • 

men  with  the  realities  of  nature  ;  and,  like  antiquity, 
be  not  content  with  awarding  to  Prometheus  the  credit  of 
sculpturing  a  well  proportioned  statue,  without  straining 
our  admiration  to  the  belief  that  he  endued  it  with  ani- 
mation. 

Recollect  further,  that  what  I  have  said  of  the  word 
cause,  is  only  illustrative  of  the  general  principle  that 
/  words  have  no  signification  but  as  they  refer  to  some 
phenomenon.  The  principle  is  applicable  to  every  word. 
It  is  as  broad  as  language,  and  has  no  exception,  but 
when  words  refer  to  revelation.  This  principle  will  guide 


54  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LcC.  2. 

you  safely  through  the  most  subtle  labyrinths  of  metaphy- 
sics, and  enable  you  to  separate  the  tinsel  of  indolent 
conjecture  from  the  gold  of  laborious  observation. 


LeC.  3.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  55 


LECTURE    III. 


WHEN  we  survey  society,  and  discover  the  labourer  bend- 
ing beneath  his  toil ;  the  merchant,  sedentary  at  a  scanty 
desk ;  and  the  scholar,  wasting  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
few  propositions — we  can  scarcely  believe  that  they  arc 
beings,  to  whom  nothing  is  naturally  more  delightful  than 
to  roam  without  a  limit,  and  to  expatiate  without  a  rule. 
Such,  however,  are  some  of  the  transformations  of  civiliza- 
tion. Still,  in  condescension  to  human  infirmity,  every  new 
enterprise  may  be  preceded  by  a  relaxation,  and  every 
new  investigation  by  an  excursion  of  fancy.  But  these 
indulgences  must  be  brief.  The  sinews  of  the  artisan 
must  again  be  strung  to  toil,  and  the  thoughts  of  the  stu- 
dent contracted  to  a  point. 

Leaving,  then,  the  pleasant  fields  of  excursive  specula- 
tion, we  also  must  return  to  the  slow  exploration  of  a  sin- 
gle avenue  of  knowledge.  My  former  lectures  contained 
truths  which  are  simple,  yot  highly  important.  They 
have  singularly  escaped -the  sciutiny  of  metaphysicians, 


66  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;  [LcC.  3. 

while,  practically,  they  have  been  admitted  by  all  persons. 
We  are  strangely  prone  to  disregard  what  is  obvious,  and 
to  believe,  with  an  ancient  philosopher,  that  truth  lies  at 
the  bottom  of  a  well.  The  contrary  is,  however,  uniform- 
ly a  safer  conclusion.  I  now  beg  your  attention  to  an- 
other fundamental,  yet  simple  principle  of  language : 
namely,  every  word  has  as  many  meanings  as  there  are 
different  phenomena  to  which  it  refers. 

If  we  reflect,  even  cursorily,  on  language,  we  must  be 
struck  with  the  number  of  its  applications.  Creation  is, 
literally,  immense ;  still,  the  names  of  created  objects 
form  but  one  use  to  which  language  is  appropriated. 
Every  feeling,  every  desire,  every  action  can  be  recorded 
by  language.  No  event  is  so  eccentric,  no  imagination  so 
wild,  no  situation  so  peculiar,  but  language  can  publish 
it.  To  effect  these  innumerable  appliances,  we  have  but 
thirty-eight  thousand  words :  hence  the  necessity  that 
every  word  should  possess  a  multitude  of  meanings. 

Nothing  is  more  definite  than  colours  ;  still,  if  we  take 
any  one  of  them,  we  shall  find  how  variously,  even  in  this 
definite  application,  a  word  may  be  used.  White  is  ap- 
plied to  snow,  to  this  paper,  to  the  glass  which  composes 
our  windows,  to  our  skin,  to  the  floor  of  this  room,  to  the 
walls,  to  water,  and  to  silver.  A  perfect  language  should 
have  a  separate  word  for  each  of  these  appearances, 
and  a  separate  word  for  every  other  phenomenon  ;  but  a/ 
language  thus  precise  would  be  too  copious  for  our  me- 
mory :  hence  in  every  tongue  the  same  word  is  applied  to 
many  phenomena. 

This  versatility  of  language  produces  little  embarrass- 
ment in  the  ordinary  concerns  of  lite,  but  in  speculation  it 
occasions  controversy  and  confusion.  When  a  metaphy- 


Lee.  3.]  OR,  A   TREATISE  ON   LANGUAGE.  57 

sirian  discovers  that  a  word  is  appropriated  to  discordant 
existences,  lie  supposes  that  the  disagreement  is  an  ano- 
,maly  in  nature,  instead  of  a  property  of  language. 

1  may.  offer  to  demonstrate  that  the  wall  of  our  room  is 
as  white  as  the  paper  which  I  hold  in  rny  hand.  The  de- 
monstration will  be  accomplished,  if  I  place  the  paper 
against  the  wall,  and  enable  you  to  see  that  the  colours 
correspond.  The  word  demonstrate  you  will  not  object 
to,  because  you  will  understand  the  process  to  which  it 
alludes. 

In  speculation,  however,  the  case  is  different.  "  We 
cannot  demonstrate,"  says  Locke,  "  the  equality  of  two  de- 
gre.es  of  whiteness,  because  we  have  no  standard  to  mea- 
sure them  by.  The  only  help  we'  have  are  our  senses, 
which,  in  this  point,  fail  us."" 

The  difficulty  arises  from  the  restriction  which  Locke 
imposes  on  the  word  demonstrate.  He  imagines  that  its 
signification  does  not  vary  with  its  application,  and  that  it 
is>iscd  correctly  only  when  it  refers  to  counting — ns  when 
we  demonstrate  the  equivalence  of  two  piles  of  dollars ; 
or  to  weighing — as  when  we  demonstrate  the  equiponde- 
rance  of  two  pieces  of  lead  ;  or  to  measuring — as  when 
we  determine  the  length  of  two  lines. 

With  such  a  restriction  on  the  word  demonstrate, 
Locke  may  as  well  have  asserted  the  most  puerile  propo- 
sition as  the  above.  His  was  precisely  such  a  mistake  as 
was  committed  by  an  African  king,  who  executed  a  sailor 
for  imposition,  because  the  sailor  declared  that  he  hud 
crossed  the  ocean  in  the  Elephant :  a  name  which  the 
African  thought  applicable  to  an  animal  only. 

"  A  few  moments'  reflection,"  says  Professor  Stewart, 
'  must  satisfy  any  one  that  the  rrnsation  of  colour  run  re- 

fi 


68  .     TUB    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;      [LeC.  3. 

side  in  the  mind  only  ;  yet  our  constant  bias  is  to  connect 
colour  with  external  objects."  •     * 

But  wherein  am  I  mistaken,  when  1  assert  that  the  cor 
lour  of  this  baize  is  connected  with  the  baize?  The  error 
lies  in  the  restriction  which  Mr.  Stewart  places  on  the 
word  connexion.  The  word  is -generally  appropriated  to 
a  sight  and  a  feel :  to  the  feel  which  is  produced  when  I 
endeavour  to  separate  two  links  of  a  chain,  and  to  the 
sight  which  is  experienced  when  I  look  at  the  links.  To 
suppose,  however,  that  the  word  has  the  same  signification 
when  1  assert  that  colour  is  connected  with  the  baize,  is 
to  suppose  that  I  am  asserting  a  nullity  :  for  how  can  co- 
lour, which  is  a  sight,  be  thus  connected  with  baize,  wjiich 
is  a  feel?  It  cannot  be  by  the  feel  connexion,  because  that 
involves  the.  absurdity  that  colour  can  be  felt ;  nor  can  it 
be  by  the  sight  connexion,  because  that  jnvolves  the  equal 
absurdity  that  baize  (i.  e.  the  feel)  can  be  seen.-  The 
only  way  then  in  which  the  word. connexion  can  -be  signi- 
ficant when  applied  to  the  sight  colour  and  the  feel 
baize,  is  as  a  name  of  the  peculiar  phenomenon  to  which 
the  word  then  refers.  To  insist  that  connexion  shaJl  not 
be  thus  construed,  but  that  it  shall  always  mean  the  phe- 
nomena which  are  exhibited  by  two  links  of  a  chain,  is  as 
absurd  as  to  insist  that  no  two  men  shall  have  the  same 
name,  under  the  penalty  of  being  deemed  either  one  per- 
son, or  of  one  of  them  being  considered  a  non-entity. 
•  "  But,"  continues  Mr.  Stewart,  "  our  natural  bias  is 
to  conceive  white,  blue,  and  yellow,  which  exist  iu  the 
mind  only,  as  something  spread  over  the  surface  of  bo- 
dies." 

A  painter  might  startle  if  he  should  be   informed  that 
white,  blue,  and  yellow  arc  not  spread  over  the  surface  of 


LeC.  3.J  OR,    A-  TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  59 

bodies.  Has  he  suffered  a  delusion  which  you  are  about 
to  dispel  ?  No ;  you  aro  using  th  >•  phrase,  "  spread  over 
the  surface,"  as  no  man  ever  used  it,  when  applied  to  co- 

rs.  You  insist  that  the  phrase  has  but  one  significa- 
tion, and  because  that  signification  is  undiscoverable  in 
colours,  you  conclude  that  mankind  are  suffering  an  egre- 
gious error.  The  error  is,  however,  in  language,  which 
has  not  a  peculiar  term  to  express  every  phenomenon, 
but  employs  the  same  term  to  name  several  phenomenn. 
You  transfer  a  defect  which  exists  in  language,  to  our 
senses,  where  it  exists  not.  • 

What  is  the  spreading  over  tbe  surface  to  which  Mr. 
Stewart  refers?  He  will  admit  that  baize  can  be  spread 
over  the  surface  of  a  table — tl.is  affords  an  elucidation  of 
*  his  error.  The  spreading  referred  to  by  Mr.  Stewart  is 
the  feel  spreading.  It  is  where  we  can  feel  the  body  that 
is  covered,  and  the  body  Jiat  covers.  All.  then,  which 
Mr.  Stewart  means,  is,  \  .at  colour  canuc  be  felt; — a 
sight  cannot  be  feK  ri  he  word  spread,  when  thus  re- 
stricted, is  so  far  •  /n  what  we  naturally  believe  of  co- 
lour, that  no  man  ever  entertained  so  unnatural  an  opi- 
nion. We  may  as  well  insist  that  a  man  who  calls  his 
dog  Pompey  mistakes  him  for  the  dictator  of  Rome. 

Mr.  Stewart  will  admit  that  the  oil  and  lead  which  corn- 
pose  colour  can  be  spread  over  the  surface  of  bodies.  It 
is  the  sight  colour  which  produces  the  difficulty.  The  sight 
never  can  be  spread  over  tbe  surface  of  a  body  so  long  as 
we  confine  the  signification  of  the  phrase  to  the  phenome- 
na of  feeling. 

Again:  Mr.  Stewart  deems  it  erroneous  to  say,  that 
"  light  strikes  the  eye."  Why  ?  Because  strike  is  the 
name  of  a  feel  ;  therefore  it  cannot  be  predicated  of  light, 


60  TUB    I'HII.OSul'HV    OF    HUMAN     KNOWLEDGE;      [LeC.  3. 

which  is  a  sight.  Mr.  Stewart  supposes  that  strike  pos- 
sesses but  one  meaning.  It  possesses,  however,  as  many 
meanings  as  it  has  applica  ;ons  to  different  phenomena. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  name  of  u  sound,  as  when  we  say  a/ 
sound  strikes  our  ear.  It  has  no  inherent  applicability  to 
one  phenomenon  more  than  another  ;  and  when  ij  refers 
to  no  phenomenon  it  becomes  insignificant. 

The  correct  meaning  of  a  word  is  the  sight,  feel,  taste,\ 
or  other  phenomenon  to  which  the  word   is   appropriated 
by  approved  custom.     So  long,  however,   as  a  word  de- 
signates any  phenomenon,  it  has  a  signification.     To  say 
a  sound  looks  like  another  sound,  is  to  use  licentiously  the 
word  looks,  which  is  the   name   of  a  sight;  still,   if  the 
speaker  refers  to  the  similarity  of  two  sounds,   the  word 
has  every  requisite  to  rentier  it  significant.     A   philoso-   • 
pher  who  should  contend  that          ^ds  cannot  look   alike, 
(meaning  thereby  a  sight)  won  more  in  error  than  a 

man  who  sho  la  maintain  that  3scmble  :  for  the  as- 

sertion of  the  philosopher  woitlu  K  ,vc  a  quibble,  whilst 
that  of  his  opponent  would  only  betf «  ftupropriety  of  phra- 
seology. 

Though  we  suppose  generally  that  external  objects 
cause  in  other  persons  similar  sights,  tastes,  feels,  sounds, 
and  smells,  to  those  which  they  produce  in-  us  ;  .yet,  say 
metaphysicians,  no  man  can  possibly  know  this  with  cer- 
tainty. 

Apparently  there  is  a  mysterious  contradiction  in  the 
above  metaphysical  assertion';  for  while  we  wonder  at  the 
alleged  impossibility,  we  are  confident  of  its  practical  in- 
efficiency. But  the  difficulty  proceeds  from  not  knowing 
that  the  word  similar  has  several  meanings,  and  that  it  is 
used  diversely  in  the  above  positions.  When  I  say,  that 


LCC.  3.]  OR,    A    TTIEATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  61 

the  heat  which  I  am  feeling  is  similar  to  what  I  felt  yes- 
terday, the  word  similar  refers  to  the  antecedent  feel  and 
the  present.  So  long  as  I  restrict  thus  its  meaning  I  can- 
not know  that  fire  produces  in -you  a  similar  feeling  to 
what  it  produces  in  me.  I  cannot  feel  with  your  organs. 
But  we  intend  a  different  meaning,  when  we  affirm 
that  the  feel  which  you  experience  is  similar  to  mine. 
The  word  similar  means  now  that  you  display,  under  the 
operation  of  heat,  appearances  like  those  which  I  exhibit ; 
or  that  you  describe  your  feelings  in  the  same  language, 
&c.  In  short,  I  cannot  know  that  the  feel  which  fire 
produces  in  you  is  similar  to  what  it  produces  in  me,  and 
I  can  know.  The  assertions  refer  to  different  phenomena. 

Locke   admires   that  the  coldness  and  hardness  of  ice, 

i 

though  inseparable,  produce  in  us  separate  ideas.  If, 
however,  we  inquire  into  the  alleged  inseparability,  we 
shall  find  that  it  is  predicated  of  the  coldness  and  hardness 
of  ice,  because  they  do  not  exhibit  the  phenomena  to 
which  the  word  separable  is  applied  in  some  other  cases. 
I  can  tear  a  piece  of  paper,  and  tell  you  to  see  that  the 
fragments  arc  separate.  The  word  is  now  the  name  of  a 
sight.  I  can  direct  you  to  feel  that  the  fragments  are  se- 
parate. The  word  is  then  the  name  of  a  feel.  Did  Locko 
mean  that  coldness  and  hardness  arc  so  united  in  ice  that 
the  sight  separation  cannot  be  produced  in  them  ?  Cold- 
ness and  hardness  are  not  visible.  But  can  we  not  pro- 
duce the  feel  separation  in  the  coldness  and  hardness  of 
ice  ?  What  feel  ?  That  which  is  experienced  from  the 
fragments  of  the  paper  when  held  asunder  ?  This  feel  can 
no  better  apply  to  the  coldness  and  hardness  of  ice,  than 
the  sight  ran  :  hence,  whan  Locke  asserts  that  the  cold- 
ness and  hardness  of  ice  arc  not  separable,  he  limits  the 


62  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OV    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  J         [LeC.  3. 

signification  of  separable/ and  means  only  that  coldness 
and  hardness  will  not  produce  the  sight  and  feel  which  are 
produced  by  the  fragments  of  paper — a  meaning  which  no 
man  intends  to  contravene,  when  he  asserts  that  the 
coldness  and  hardness  of  ice  are  separable. 

As  Locke  shows  that  the  coldness  and  hardness  of  ice 
are  not  separable  ;  so  another  philosopher  has  shown  that 
they  are  not  united.  To  understand  this,  we  must  recol- 
lect that  the  word  united  is  ordinarily  applied  to  the  sight 
and  feel  exhibited  by  the  'links  of  a  chain.  As  neither 
this  sight  nor  feel  are  discoverable  in  the  coldness  and. 
hardness  of  ice,  we  consider  the  application  to  them  of  the 
word  united  as  a  curious  irregularity  of  nature,  instead  of 
a  simple  contrivance  by  which  men  prevent  an  inconveni- 
ent multiplicity  of  words.  •  ' 

If  a  congress  of  metaphysicians  should  assembled)  de- 
signate the  phenomena  to  which  the  word  united  truly  be- 
longs, there  would  probably  be  much  disagreement;  and 
whilst  every  member  might  assert  the  claim  of  some  ad- 
verse phenomenon,  all  would  admit  that  the  name  can 
belong  properly  to  only  one.  They  would  affirm  that  its 
signification  is  independent  of  men,  and  exists  in  some 
subtle  definition  to  whose  test  every  advocate  would  sub- 
ject his  favourite  phenomenon  ; — not  to  decide  whether  it 
shall  be  named  united,  but  whether  it  be  the  existence, 
that  the  word  inherently  typifies. 

Admit  they  shall  adjudge  that  the  sight  and  feel  exhi- 
bited by  the  links  of  a  chain  constitute  the  phenomena  to 
which  alone  the  name  united  belongs  :  the  assembly  would 
immediately  declare  that  coldness  and  hardness  are  not 
united  in  ice;  that  sweetness  is  not  united  with  sugar, 
nor  whiteness  with  snow,  nor  fragrance  with  a  rose,  nor 


3.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  63 

an  effect  with  its  cause — enunciations  which  mean  sim- 
ply that  sweetness  and  sugar,  whiteness  and  snow,  Ac- 
do  not  exhibit  the  sight  and  feel  that  are  produced  by  the 
links  of  a  chain  :  a  meaning  which,  if  expressed  plainly, 
is  as  puerile  as  any  declaration  that  can  be  framed.  The 
whole  is  founded  on  an  ignorance  of  the  fundamental 
ruth,  that  words  have  no  inherent  signification,  but  as 
/many  meanings  as  they  possess  applications  to  different 
phenomena.  The  phenomenon  to  which  a  word  refers, 
constitutes,  in  every  case,  the  signification  of  the  word. 

We  may  now  understand  the  metaphysical  puzzle  of 
Hume,  that  there  is  no  visible  union  between  any  cause 
and  its  effect.  The  union  to  which  he  referred  is  the 
sight  and  feel  exhibited  by  the  links  of  a  chain.  But  such 
a  union  can  never  be  intended  by  any  person  who  asserts 
that  a  cause  and  its  effect  are  united.  Cause  and  effect 
exist  successively  ;  and  how  instantaneous  soever  may  be 
the  succession,  the  cause  must  precede  its  effect.  One 
only  can  toe  present — the  other  must  be  either  future  or 
past.  To  talk,  therefore,  of  seeing  a  cause  and  its  effect 
united,  as  we  see  the  union  of  two  links,  is  to  talk  of  see- 
ing at  the  same  time  a  present  phenomenon  and  a  past, 
or  a  present  phenomenon  and  a  future.  It  is  to  speak 
absurdly*. 

*  That  a  chain  will  move  on  drawing  towards  us  one  of  its 
links,  is  a  result  which  we  learn  from  experience,  and  which  we 
could  not  discover,  a  priori,  any  more  than  that  the  uttering  of  a 
sound  will  be  succeeded  by  an  echo. 

Again :  that  a  chain  resists  separation,  constitutes  none  of  the 
information  which  we  obtain  by  looking  at  the  union  of  its  links. 


i\V 

64  THE     PHILOSOPHY    OF     HUMAN     KNOWLEDGE   J     [LeC.  3. 

"  I  now  proceed,"  says  Professor  Brown*,  "  to  a  most 
important  inquiry — the  identity  of  the  rnind;  whether  the 
mind  is  truly  one  and  permanent,  amid  all  the  variety  of 
its  fugitive  affections  ?" 

But  wherein  is  this  inquiry  important?  To  collect  facts 
may  be  important ;  but  whether  they  shall  be  named  men- 
tal identity  is  unimportant.  The  name  cannot  raise  or 
depress  them,  but  sinks  in  its  signification  to  the  pheno- 
mena to  which  you  affix  it.  I  shall  be  what  I  am,  call 
me  by  what  name  you  please  ;  and*  so  will  the  phenomena 
of  the  mind.  Hence  it  is  wisely  observed  by  Lord  Shafts-f\ 
bury,  in  view  of  the  conflicting  opinions  which  relate  to 
the  identity  of  the  mind,  that  there  is  (to  use  his  own  lan- 
guage) "  no  impediment  or  suspension  of  action  on  ac- 
count of  these  refined  speculations.  Agreement  and  de- 
bate go  on  still.  Conduct  is  settled.  Rules  and  measures 
are  given  out  and  received.  Nor  do  we  scruple  to  act  as 
resolutely,  on  the  mere  supposition  that  we  are  ;  as  if  we 
had  proved  it  to  the  full  satisfaction  of  our  metaphysical 
antngonistt."  . 

An  ignorance  of  the  principle  which  we  are  now  consi- 
dering, occasions  also  much  admiration  ;  thus  Professor 

The  resistance  is  an  effect  of  the  unfolip?  and  disclosed  to  us  by  ex- 
perience only. 

Hence,  if  we  could,  as  Hume  desrr^d,  see  every  cause  and  its 
effect  entwined  like  the  links  of  a  chain,  our  knowledge  would  be 
exactly  what  it  is  now.  The  link  would  prove  nothing.  None  of 
its  effects  can  be  seen  or  felt,  a  priori,  any  more  than  we  can  see 
or  feel,  a  priori,  the  effects  of  arsenic. 

*   Lecture  XII,  on  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind 

t   Ibid. 


i 


LeC.  3.^  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  66 

Stewart,  in  his  Philosophy,  says,  "  an  expert  accountant 
can  enumerate,  almost  at  a  glance,  a  long  colunfn,  though 
he  may  be  unable  to  recollect  any  of  the  figures  which 
compose  the  sum." 

Thus  far  the  statement  of  Mr.  Stewart  creates  no  per- 
plexity ;  but  when  he  adds,  "  nobody  doubts  but  each  of 
these  figures  has  passed  through  the  accountant's  mind," 
the  case  seems  altered.  The  accountant  begins  to  won- 
der that  he  does  not  recollect  the  several  figures.  Pass- 
ing through  the  mind,  he  supposes  to  mean  something  dif- 
ferent from  what  he  experiences  in  addition.  He  does 
not  know  that  words  mean,  in  every  case,  the  phenomena 
to  which  they  refer.  He  supposes  rather  that  the  passage 
of  the  figures  through  the  mind  signifies  the  same  as  the 
passage  of  an  army  through  the  gate  of  a  city. 

The  New  Edinburgh  Encyclopedia  says,  "  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  circumstances  respecting  contagions,  is 
the  property  which  some  of  them  possess  of  attacking  an 
individual  once  only  in  the  course  of  his  life." 

The  above  refers  to  facts  with  which  we  are  familiar, 
and  which  are  sufficiently  worthy  of  admiration  :  but  the 
writer  is  not  satisfied  with  the  facts  ;  he  continues,  "  there 
is  thus  wrought  in  the  system  a  change  which  is  not  cog- 
nizable to  the  senses." 

The  admiration  of  most  persons  will  now  be  greatly 
augmented.  They  will  suppose  that  the  word  change 
means  the  same  as  wheji  we  say  the  appearance  of  a  house 
has  changed,  or  the  temperature  of  the  weather  has  chang- 
ed. The  exciting  cause  of  curiosity  is,  that  this  change 
exists  without  being  cognizable  by  the  senses  :  in  other 
words,  the  surprise  proceeds  from  not  knowing  that  the 
word  change  has  no  invariable  siguification,  and  that  in 

9 


66  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [LeC.  3. 

the  present  case  it  means  no  more  than  the- fact  that  cer- 
tain diseases  attack  us  but  once. 

If  you  exhibit  the  phenomena  produced  by  a  prism,  the 
spectators  will  be  delighted.  .  But  they  are  not  permitted 
to  view  the  spectrum  as  the  whole  merit  of  the  exhibition, 
their  admiration  is  increased  by  an  artificial  announcement. 
They  are  told  that  the  ray  of  light  which  enters  on  one 
side  of  the  prism,  is  composed  of  the  gorgeous  colours 
which  are  emitted  from  the  other  side.  They  do  not 
know  that  the  assertion  means  no  more  than  the  experi- 
ment which  they  are  beholding :  they  suppose  that  the 
word  composed,  possesses  the  same  'signification  as  when 
you  say  lemonade  is  composed  of  water,  sugar,  and  lime- 
juice. 

But  the  experimenter  will  not  yet  be  satisfied  with  your 
emotions.  He  will  say,  as  you  have  seen  a  ray  of  light 
untwisted,  or  split  into  several  coloured  rays  ;  he  will  col- 
lect the  fragments,  and  put  them  together,  when  they  will 
again  form  a  ray  of  white  light.  .  With  these  remarks,  he 
will  make  the  coloured  rays  fall  upon  a  lens,  that  will  con- 
verge them  into  a  focus,  and  this  will  be  white. 

The  experiment  is  interesting  and  curious,  and  far  be 
from  me  the  desire  to  depreciate  it ;  but  nothing  permanent- 
ly advantageous  is  derived  from  error.  It  is  better  to  know 
that  language  can  in  no  case  mean  more  than  the  pheno- 
mena to  which  it  refers,  than  to  surround  our  knowledge 
with  a  halo  of  ignorance,  how  arpusing  soever  to  fancy, 
or  gratifying  to  the  love  of  wonders. 

In  a  small,  but  very  meritorious  work,  on  Natural  Phi- 
losophy*, after  explaining  the  prismatic  phenomena,  the 

*  Conversations  on  Natural  Philosophy. 


Lee.  8*]  OR,  A  TREATISE  on  LANGUAGE.  67 

writer  details  the  consequences  which  have  been  deduced 
from  them  :  that  grass  is  green,  because  it  absorbs  all  the 
rajs  of  light  but  the  green;  roses  are  red,  because  they 
absorb  all  but  the  red  rays ;  snow  is  white,  because  it  re- 
flects the  whole  ray,  &c.  "  You  can  never  see  objects," 
•ays  the  book,  "  without  light.  Light  is  composed  of  co- 
lours ;  therefore  every  object,  though  it  is  black  in  the 
dark,  becomes  coloured  as  soon  as  it  is  visible.  It  is  visi- 
ble by  the  coloured  rays  which  it  reflects :  hence  w$  can 
see  it  only  when  it  is  coloured." 

This  doctrine  is  delivered  in  a  dialogue  between  an  in- 
structress and  a  young  female  pupil.  The  pupil  replies 
with  emotion,  "  all  you  say  seems  true,  and  I  know  not 
what  to  object ;  yet  it  appears  incredible  :  what !  when  in 
the  dark,  are  we  all  as  black  as  negroes  ?  The  thought 
makes  me  shudder." 

y  The  astonishment  So  naturally  expressed  by  the  pupil, 
is  not  at  the  phenomenon  ;  for  who  has  not  experienced 
that  in  the  dark  there  is  no  discrimination  of  colour  be- 
tween a  negro  and  a  white  ?  No :  the  astonishment  is 
produced  by  the  language  ;  from  a  supposition  that  the 
blackness  which  is  attributed  to  us  in  the  dark,  is  the 
same  blackness  that  is  attributable  in  the  light  to  negroes. 

After  a  moment's  exposure,  a  drop  of  the  otto  of  roses 
will  fill  with  odour  a  large  room  ;  still,  the  size  of  the  drop 
will  betray  no  diminution  :  nay,  the  drop  will  remain  unifi- 
minished,' though  fifty  rooms  should  be  surcharged  with  its 
odour.  This  is  a  common  phenomenon,  and  its  announce- 
ment excites  no  admiration  ;  but  if  you  adopt  a  different 
phraseology,  much  surprise  will  L»e  produced.  Tell  a 
person  that  the  particles  of  matter  are  so  small  that  seve- 
ral rooms  may  be  filled  with  it  single  drop  of  otto  of 


68 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [Lee.  8« 


roses,  and  the  drop  be  apparently  undimiriished.  As  a 
proof  of  your  position,  expose  a  drop  of  otto  of  roses,  and 
while  he  recognizes  its  fragrance  in  every  part  of  the 
room,  he  will  admire  the  wonderful  smallness  of  its  par- 
ticles. Still  it  is  not  the  phenomenon  which  surprises 
him.  The  phraseology  seems  to  purport  that  the  room  is 
filled  with  particles,  which  would  be  tangible  and  visible 
were  they  less  minute,  or  our  senses  more  delicate*  He 
does  not  know  that  the  word  particles,  when  applied  to 
the  odour,  signifies  the  smell  only.  In  short,  he  knows 
not  that  the  meaning  of  a  word  is  in  every  case  governed  / 
by  the  phenomena  to  which  it  refers. 

But  if  he  is  astonished  at  the  preceding,  what  will 
he  say  of  the  particles  of  light  ?  They  fall,  says  Natural 
Philosophy,  millions  of  miles,  and  with  a  velocity  so  won- 
derful as  to  accomplish  the  descent  in  an  instant ;  still 
they  do  not  hurt  even  the  eye,  though  they  alight  imme- 
diately on  that  susceptible  organ.  Many  a  man,  grown 
old  under  the  rays  of  the  sun,  is  astonished  at  this  recital. 
The  astonishment  does  not  proceed  from  the  phenomena, 
but  the  language.  Minuteness,  he  supposes,  is  the  only 
difference  between  a  particle  of  light  and  a  particle  of 
stone.  That  he  cannot  feel  the  particles  of  light  he  at- 
tributes to  the  grossness  of  his  senses,  and  not  to  the  non-  * 
existence  of  a  tangible  object :  hence,  if  he  is  informed 
farther  that  philosophers  have  in  vain  endeavoured,  with 
the  nicest  balances,  to  discover  weight  in  sun-beams, 
even  when  the  number  of  particles  thrown  into  a  scale 
has  been  multiplied  by  a  powerful  lens,  the  experiment 
increases  his  \vonder  at  the  smallness  of  the  particles ; 
though  it  ought  to  teach  him  that  the  mystery  is  nothing 
but  a  latent  sophistry  of  language.  The  word  particle, 


LOO.  3.}  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE  69 

when  applied  to  light,  means  only  the  phenomenon  to 
which  it  is  applied.  It  names  a  eight.  To  wonder  that 
the  eye  cannot  feel  the  particles  of  light,  is  to  wonder  that 
they  cannot  feel  a  sight.  We  may  as  well  wonder  that 
we  cannot  taste  sounds  and  hear  smells. 

"  Nothing,"  says  Professor  Brown,  "appears  more  uni- 
form than  a  piece  of  glass."  Granted.  Why  should  it 
not  so  appear  ?  But  he  proceeds : — "  Yet  glass  is  a  pro- 
duct of  human  art,  and  we  know  from  its  composition  that 
it  is  a  congeries  of  bodies  which  have  no  similarity." 

We  now  discover  matter  for  considerable  surprise.  A 
man  who  has  all  his  life  been  employed  in  manufacturing 
glass,  will  be  astonished,  though  he  will  laugh  if  you  tell 
him,  in  plain  language,  that  glass  is  composed  of  sand 
and  alkali.  This,  however,  is  all  that  the  assertion  sig- 
nifies. 

"  But,"  continues  Mr.  Brown,  "  the  congeries  of  bo- 
dies exist  as  separately  in  glass  as  they  existed  before  they 
were  formed  into  glass." 

This  is  more  mysterious!  We  in  vain  strain  our  eyes 
to  discover  the  bodies.  The  glass  still  appears  uniform. 
After  our  astonishmcn^hall  have  progressed  sufliciently, 
it  may  be  allayed  by  learning  that  the  declaration  of  Mr. 
Brown  means  only  that  chymists  can  reduce  glass  to  its 
pristine  materials.  That  men  can  compose  from  mate- 
rials so  unseemly  as  sand  and  alkali  the  beautiful  fabric 
of  glass,  and  that  they  can  again  .transform  glass  to  its 
pristine  rudeness,  are  facfs  sufficiently  admirable  without 
the  heightening  of  any  verbal  delusion.  Similar  to  the 
above  is  what  the  same  writer  says  of  sculpture.  "  The 
sculptor  alters  the  form  of  a  block  of  marble,  not  by 
communicating  to  it  any  new  (juulilics,  but  by  detaching 


TO  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [Lee.  8. 

a  number  of  the  corpuscles,  which  were  included  by  us  in 
our  conception  of  the  whole :  and  when  he  has  given  the 
last  delicate  touches  that  finish  the  Jupiters,  the  Venus, 
or  Apollo,  the  divine  form  which  we  admire,  (as  if  it  had 
assumed  a  new  existence  beneath  the  artist's  hands)  10 
still  the  same  quiescent  mass  that  slumbered  for  ages  in 
the  quarry." 

This  appears  very  wonderful !  The  statue  was  always 
in  the  block  of  marble  ! !  All  that  the  artist  effected  was 
a  removal  of  the  parts  which  concealed  it.  A  statuary 
would  be  astonished  to  hear  this  character  of  his  art,  and 
his  astonishment  would  continue,  till  he  should  learn  that 
the  recital  is  only  another  mode  of  expressing  that  the 
statue  is  not  formed  by  adding  any  thing  to  the  block  of 
marble,  but  by  excision  from  it:  in  pther  words,  that 
the  recital  does  not  mean  the  same,  as  similar  expres- 
sions would  if  they  referred  to  the  removal  of  a  mask  from 
the  face  of  a  man  ;  or  the  removal  of  a  mass  of  earth  that 
obscured  some  beautifi  1  pedestal;  but  that  the  recital, 
when  applied  to  statuary,  means  nothing  but  the  com- 
mon  operations  which  are  known  to  every  person. 

"  That  light,  itself  a  body,  should,"  says  the  same 
writer,  "  pass  freely  through  solid  crystal,  is  regarded  by 
us  as  a  physical  wonder."  Why  ?  We  have  been  fami- 
liar with  it  all  our  lives.  No  man  was  ever  surprised  at 
finding  light  enter  his  room  when  he  threw  open  his  win- 
dow shutters.  The  wonder  is  produced  by  our  interpre- 
tation of  the  words  in  which  this  common  phenomenon  is 
expressed.  When  we  suppose  that  the  passage  of  light 
through  crystal  is  the  same  as  the  passage  of  my  hand 
through  crystal,  we  are  necessarily  astonished  ;  but  when 
we  find  that  the  phrase  means  only  what  crystal  is  con- 


LOC.  3.J  OB,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  .          71 

t  inually  exhibiting,  our  surprise  vanishes  with  the  delusion 
that  created  it.  % 

It  is  instructive  to  observe  how  insidiously  language  en- 
ables us  to  infer  that  light  ought  to  encounter  opposition 
in  its  passage  through  crystal.  If  Mr.  Brown  had  merely 
stated  that  light  passes  through  crystal,  there  would  have 
appeared  no  reason  why  it  should  not  pass  through.  But 
the  addition  of  one  word  seems  to  show  that  there  is,  in 
the  passage  of  light,  a  wonder  which,  if  not  so  miraculous 
as  the  passage  of  Moses  through  the  Red  sea,  is  more  in- 
conceivable :  I  allude  to  the  word  body — the  wonder  is 
that  light,  "  itself  a  body,"  should  pass  through  crystal. 
Body  is  generally  the  name  of  a  feel :  hence,  when  we 
say  that  light  is  a  body,  we  do  not  consider  that  the  sig- 
nification of  the  word  body  is  governed  by  the  phenome- 
non to  which  it  is  applied.  We  suppose  rather  that  the 
name  regulates  the  character  of  the  phenomenon,  and 
that  to  apply  the  term  body  to  light,  determines  that  light 
is  a  feel : — and  hence  the  wonder  that  light  should  pass 
through  crystal.  The  wonder  is  not  that  the  sight  which 
we  witness  should  occur,  but  that  something  else  should 
happen:  a  something  which  is  purely  a  delusion  of  lan- 
guage. 

Again :  "  If,"  says  the  same  author,  "  there  had  been 
no  such  science  as  chyraistry,  who  could  have  supposed 
that  the  innumerable  animate  bodies,  and  inanimate,  on 
the  surface  of  our  globe,  and  ull  which  we  have  explored 
in  the  depths  of  the  earth,  are  reducible,  and  in  the  imper- 
fect state  of  the  science,  haye  been  already  reduced  to  a 
few  simple  elements  ?" 

This  seems  the  climax  of  wonder,  that  every  thing, 
even  ourselves,  "  yea,  the  great  globe  itself,  and  all 


72  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LeC.  3. 

which  it  inhabit,"  are  reducible  to  a  few  elements,  which 
are  possessed  in  common  by  "  the  giant  and  the  poor  bee- 
tle he  treads  upon  j"  by  the  sick  man  and  the  coals  which 
warm  his  chamber  ;  by  the  mason  and  the  stones  which  he 
unfeelingly  hews.  Mr.  Brown  says  correctly,  if  there 
had  been  no  chymistry,  these  facts  would  not  have  been 
supposed.  But  why  ?  Because  the  whole  refers  to  th« 
processes  of  chymistry ;  independently  thereof,  the  lan- 
guage has  no  archetype  in  nature.  The  declaration 
evinces,  however,  the  ignorance  which  exists  of  the  na- 
ture of  language,  and  the  proneness  of  scientific  men  to 
exalt  their  pursuits  by  the  excitation  of  wonder. 

Chymists  do  not  say  simply  that  they  can  produce  hy- 
drogen gas,  and  oxygen,  from  water,  and  vice  versa;  but 
that  water  is  nothing  but  a  combination  of  these  gases. 
The  assertion  is  true,  so  long  as  it  means  the  phenomena 
to  which  it  refers  ;  but  it  produces  wonder,  because  we 
suppose  it  has  a  meaning  beyond  the  phenomena. 

A  large  portion  of  bodies  will,  on  the  application  of  fire, 
resolve  into  smoke  and  cinders.  We  may,  if  we  wish  to 
excite  wonder,  say  that  these  bodies,  bow  diversified  soe- 
ver in  shape  and  consistence,  how  beautiful  soever  to  the 
eye  and  delicate  to  the  touch,  are  nothing  but  modifica- 
tions and  combinations  of  smoke  and  cinders.  We  may 
elucidate  the  assertion  by  a  conflagration  of  several  bodies, 
and  our  position  will  appear  to  be  thereby  proved;  be- 
cause it  will  constitute  all  that  the  assertion  means.  Chy- 
mical  theories  are  much  like  the  above.  They  arc  not 
exactly  similar,  for  chy mists  proceed  farther;  and  with 
the  smoke  and  cinders  produce  additional  transforma- 
tions. 


LeC.  3.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  73 

•v   i     An  ignorance  of  the  simple  fact,  that  every  word  has 
as  many  meanings  as  it  has  applications  to  different  phe- 
nomena, enables  philosophers  not  only  to  encircle  their 
speculations  with  a  false  splendour  in  the  manner  I  have 
exemplified,  but  to  allure  admiration  by  an  artificial  de- 
gradation of  phenomena:  thus  Professor  Brown*,  in  speak- 
ing of  causation,  says,  "  power  is  a  word  of  much  seem- 
ing mystery  ;  yet  all  which  is  mysterious  in  it  vanishes, 
when  it  is  regarded  in  its  true  light,  as  only  a  general 
term  expressive  of  invariable  antecedence;  or,  in  other 
words,  of  what  cannot  exist  without  being  followed  im- 
mediately by  a  definite  event,  which  we  denominate  an 
effect.     To  express  shortly,"  he  continues,  "  the  only 
intelligible  meaning  of  the  three  most  important  words  in 
physics,     power,    cause    and    effect,    we  may   say    that 
power  is  immediate  invariable  antecedence  ;  a  cause  is 
the  immediate  invariable  antecedent  in  any  sequence ; 
and  an  effect  is  the  immediate  invariable  consequent." 
^  We  may  now  think  that  power,  cause,  and  effect  are 
wholly  different  from  what  we  had  supposed  :  a  cause  is 
nothing  but  an  immediate   invariable   antecedent.     But 
what  is  an  immediate  invariable  antecedent  ?  Custom  ap- 
plies the   phrase  to  fifty  phenomena,    and  to  know  forty- 
nine  of  them   leaves   me  still  ignorant  of  the  fiftieth. — 
Hence,  when  the  phrase  is  used  to  define  a  cause,  we  shall 
be  deceived  if  we  think  it  means  any  thing  but  the  pheno- 
mena to  which  it  then  refers.     The  phrase  may  seem  to 
simplify  causation,  because  I   may  attach  to  the  phrase 
some  meaning  that  differs  from  the  phenomena  discover- 
able in  causation  ;  but,  if  I  estimate  correctly  the  phrase, 

*  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  Lecture  VII. 

10 


74  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  J       [LeC.  3. 

that  is,  if  I  estimate  it  as  nothing  but  a  name  of  the  phe- 
nomena to  which  the  word  cause  refers,  my  knowledge 
will  be  equal,  whether  I  apply  to  the  phenomena  the  word 
cause  or  the  phrase  of  Mr.  Brown. 

Again  :  "  when  a  spark,"  says  the  same  philosopher, 
"  falls  on  gunpowder,  and  kindles  it  into  explosion,  every 
person  ascribes  to  the  spark,  the  power  of  kindling  the 
inflammable  mass.  But,"  continues  he,  '*  let  any  one 
ask  himself  what  he  means  by  the  power  which  he  im- 
putes to  the  spark,  and  without  contenting  himself  with  a 
few  phrases,  that  signify  nothing,  let  him" — do  what  ? — 
Content  himself  with  no  phrase ;  but  consider  the  word 
power  as  signifying  precisely  the  phenomena  which  he 
discovers  ? — No :  he  must  content  himself  with  some 
phrases  which  Mr.  Brown  prescribes.  Such  will  always 
be  the  advice  of  philosophers,  while  they  shall  suppose 
that  words  mean  more  than  the  phenomena  to  which  they 
are  applied.  Every  philosopher  will  give  us  a  new  phrase, 
and  desire  us  to  be  content  with  no  other.  In  the  present 
case,  the  advice  of  Mr.  Brown  is,  that  the  person  shall 
answer,  that  by  the  power  imputed  to  the  spark,  he 
means  only  "  that,  in  all  similar  circumstances,  an  ex- 
plosion of  gunpowder  will  be  the  immediate  and  uniform 
consequence  of  the  application  of  a  spark." 

Admit  the  person  shall  answer  thus,  what  will  the  word 
signify  ? — The  same  phenomena  that  were  referred  to  by 
the  word  power.     The  person  may  suppose  that  the  oc- 
currence is  vastly  simplified  by  the  new  phraseology,  but, 
if  he  does,  he  is  deluded,  and  knows  not  that.^ie  meaning  i^ 
of  every  word  or  phrase  is  the  phenomenon  to  which  i 
refers. 

Again  :  "  what  we  denominate  form  is,"  says  the  same 


3.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  75 

author,  "  nothing  separate  from  the  elementary  atoms  of 
a  mass  ;  but  merely  the  relation  of  a  number  of  atoms»  co- 
existing in  apparent  contact." 

This  degradation  of  form  is  in  revenge  of  the  estima- 
tion which,  under  the  name  of  substantial  forms,  it  re- 
ceived from  the  Peripatetics  :  for  it  is  with  words  as  with 
men,  among  whom,  when  one  has  been  unduly  honoured, 
there  is  excited  a  malicious  desire  to  withhold  even  the 
consideration  which  he  can  justly  claim.  We  may  now 
consider  shape  or  form  much  more  simple  than  we  have 
heretofore  supposed.  Form  is  only  the  relation  to  each 
other  of  a  number  of  atoms.  If,  however,  we  estimate 
correctly  the  phraseology,  we  shall  find  that  we  gain  by 
it  nothing.  The  phenomenon  will  not  change  its  nature 
to  conform  to  our  new  phraspology  ;  but  the  phraseology 
will  change  its  signification  to  conform  to  its  new  applica- 
tion, and  mean  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  phenome- 
non. 

Again  :  ice,  says  the  same  writer,  differs  from  water 
only  in  this,  the  particles  "which  formerly  were  easily 
separable,  now  resist  separation  with  a  considerable 
force." 

An  Emperor  of  Siam  disbelieved  aJDutch  embassa- 
dor  who  related  that  in  Holland  water  becomes  so  hard 
that  men  walk  on  it.  Possibly,  if  the  embassador  had 
employed  the  language  of  Mr.  Brown,  the  phenomenon 
would  have  seemed  more  probable.  Hudibras  says  of 
glass,  that  it  is  only  the  ice  of  fire  : — a  simplification 
which,  though  used  in  ridicule,  is  like  that  of  Mr.  Brown. 
Both  seem  to  give  an  easy  reason  for  the  phenomena  to 
which  they  refer  ;  but  the  ease  arises  from  not  knowing 
that  every  word  has  as  many  meanings  as  it  has  applica- 


76  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LeC.  3. 

tions  to  different  phenomena.  The  word  ice,  in  the  de- 
scription of  Hudibras,  and  the  resistance  of  the  particles 
of  water  in  the  description  of  Mr.  Brown,  mean  not  what 
they  signify  when  employed  ordinarily,  but  what  are  dis- 
coverable in  ice  and  glass ;  and  what  we  speak  of  with 
language  more  seemingly  inexplicable. 

But  the  most  curious  simplification  on  record  is  given 
of  chymistry.  We  know  that  chymistry  analyses  bodies, 
and  out  of  water  produces  oxygen  gas,  and  hydrogen  ; 
out  of  glass,  sand,  alkali,  &,c.  Now,  says  Mr.  Brown,* 
"  these  processes  of  chymistry  enable  us  only  to  discover 
what  are  always  before  our  eyes,  but  our  sight  is  not  keen 
enough  to  see  them."  This  greatly  dissipates  our  admira- 
tion of  chymistry.  There  is  but  little  merit  in  producing 
oxygen  from  water,  and  sand  from  glass  ;  if  the  operation 
enables  us  to  see  only  what  the  weakness  of  our  eyes 
prevented  us  from  seeing.  Unfortunately,  however,  the 
means  which  ordinarily  assist  vision,  aid  not  chy mists. 
With  the  most  powerful  microscope  they  are  unable  to 
discover,  in  water,  the  gases  ;  or  in  glass,  the  alkali. 

If  we  inquire  soberly  into  the  meaning  of  Mr.  BroWn, 
we  shall  find  that  his  language  has  no  signification  but 
what  is  comprehended  by  our  ordinary  phraseology.  The 
simplicity  which  his  description  affords,  arises  from  an  ig- 
norance of  the  fact,  that  the  meaning  of  words  is  gov- 
erned by  the  phenomena  to  which  they  refer.  When  Mr. 
Brown  says,  that  the  gases  are  present  in  water,  and 
would  be  visible  were  our  eyes  sufficiently  acute  ;  the  word 
"  present,"  does  not  mean  the  same  as  when  I  say  this 
table  is  present ;  but  it  refers  to  the  phenomena  exhibited 

*  Lecture  IX,  on  the  Philosophy  of  the  Mind. 


3v]  OR,   A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  77 

by  chymistry.:  the  development  of  the  gases  when  you 
analyze  water. 

I  have  now  I  hope,  elucidated  sufficiently  the  impor- 
tant position  with  which  I  commenced,  that  every  word 
has  as  many  meanings  as  it  has  applications  to  different 
phenomena.  I  might  dwell  on  this  topic  ;  but  my  object 
is  simply  to  exhibit  principles.  To  apply  them,  must  be 
the  business  of  my  auditors ;  and  they  will  find  sufficient 
opportunities  in  every  science  they  may  examine,  and  in 
every  controversy  they  may  investigate. 


78  THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    HUMAN   KNOWLEDGE  ?        [LeC.  4. 


LECTURE    IV« 


NATURALISTS'  assert,  that  the  oak  with  its  towering 
trunk,  its  gigantic  limbs,  and  its"  diffusive  roots,  is  origi- 
nally compressed  within  an  acorn.  They  make  this  dis- 
covery by  vision,  and  trace  in  microscopic  lineaments  the 
sylvan  monarch.  So  an  author  can  indite  a  few  general 
propositions,  which  shall  comprehend  a  system  of  philoso- 
phy ;  but  knowledge,  thus  compressed,  is  as  undiscovera- 
ble  to  every  understanding  except  the  author's  as  the  oak 
is  undiscernible  to  every  eye  but  the  naturalist's. 

In  detail  then  we  must  proceed.  The  oak  must  be  suf- 
fered to  issue  from  its  imagined  nucleus,  to  enlarge  gra- 
dually its  stem,  to  protrude  successively  its  branches, 
and  to  indurate  by  alternate  suns  and  tempests,  before  it 
can  serve  any  useful  purpose  ;  so  an  author  must  be  per- 
mitted to  unfold  gradually  his  premises,  frame  his  propo- 
sitions, accumulate  examples,  anticipate  objections,  and 
evolve  slowly  his  conclusions,  before  his  labours  can  im- 


4.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  79 

part  any  beneficial  instruction.     Patience  then   must   be 
your  characteristic,  and  my  motto. 

In  our  last  lecture,  I  endeavoured  to  show  that  every 
word  possesses  as  many  significations  as  it  has  different 
phenomena  to  which  it  refers ;  or,  to  express  differently 

Xthe  same  truth,  tjje  meaning  of  a  word  is  the  phenomenon 
to  which  the  word  refers.  In  the  present  lecture,  I  shall 
prove  that  the  same  rule  applies  to  general  .propositions. 
Every  general  proposition  has  as  many  significations  as  it 
possesses  different  particulars  to  which  it  refers;  or, 
V  (again  in  other  words)  the  signification  of  a  general  pro- 
position, is  the  particular  instance  to  which  the  speaker  re- 
fers. 

We  are,  however,  constantly  prone  to  error  in  the  inter- 
pretation of  general  propositions.  We  know  not  that 
each  signifies  some  particular  in  the  mind  of  the  speaker, 
but  we  suppose  it  refers  to  an  invariable  standard,  or  at 
least,  to  some  particular  in  our  own  mind ;  and  hence  the 
frequent  altercation  which  follows  the  enunciation  of  a 
general  proposition.  I  lately  heard  a  gentleman  exclaim 
that  his  situation  was  unhappy.  Another  rebuked  the 
speaker,  and  insisted  that  he  ought  not  to  be  so  unthank- 
ful, his  situation  was  peculiarly  happy.  Here  were  two 
conflicting  general  propositions.  Each  speaker  alluded 
to  different  particulars,  and  if  he  had  stated  them,  there 
would  have  been  no  disagreem-ent ;  the  first  speaker  would 
have  admitted  that  he  was  desirably  situated  in  the  cases 
enumerated  by  the  second,  and  the  second  would  have  ad- 
mitted that  there  was  unhappiness  in  the  particulars  enu- 
merated by  the  first.  If  I  have  been  hurt  by  riding  a  vi- 
cious horse,  I  make  numerous  general  propositions,  for 
which  I  may  have  no  signification  but  the  above  accident : 


80  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;  [LtiC.  4. 

thus,  things  which  are  very  valuable  when  good,  are  fre- 
quently very  bad  when  not  good. 

Some  animals  are  so  destitute  of  gratitude,  that  the 
more  you  pamper  them,  the  more  inclined  they  will  be  to 
injure  you.  What  in  animals  we  call  a  vicious  practice,  is 
probably  performed  without  any  vicious  intention. 
•  To  a  person  who  is  ignorant  of  .the  accident  to  which  I 
refer,  the  propositions  will  be  insignificant,  unless  he  apply 
them  to  other  particulars.  Such  an  application  will  some- 
times induce  a  denial  of  my  position ;  he  may  insist  that 
animals  are  conscious  when  they  perform  a  vicious  action. 
He  alludes  to  his  dog,  who  after  killing  a  sheep,  exhibited 
unequivocal  symptoms  of  fear.  Now  my  proposition  was 
not  intended  to  controvert  this.  I  meant  only  that  starting 
at  his  shadow,  a  practice  by  which  my  horse  threw  me 
from  his  back,  was  performed  without  any  intention  of 
dismounting  his  rider. 

But  suppose  I  assert,  that  "  infancy  is  a  state  of  de- 
pendence." I  do  not  obviously  refer  to  any  particular 
infant,  nor  any  determinate  acts  of  dependence.  This 
may  arise  from  my  familiarity  with  the  proposition.  When 
I  used  it  first,  I  referred  to  some  particular  case  ;  but  now, 
I  employ  it  without  thinking  of  any ;  and  were  you  to  de- 
mand of  me  some  example,  I  should  probably  state  one 
which  I  did  not  think  of  when  I  uttered  the  declaration. 

The  scripture  says,  judge  not  lest  you  be  judged.  Our 
mode  of  framing  general  propositions  furnishes  this  text 
with  a  popular  construction,  which  implies,  that  the  judg- 
ments we  pronounce  arc  frequently  nothing  but  an  enun- 
ciation of  our  own  practices  ;  thus,  1  may  say,  "  no  man 
is  proof  against  all  temptations."  I  mean  no  more  than 
a  particular  case  in  which  I  was  vanquished.  If  the  hearer 


4«]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANRtJAOE.  81 

can  recollect  no  occasion  in  which  he  was  similarly  over- 
powered, he  will  not  assent  to  my  position  ;  and  if  he  can 
recollect  an  instance  in  which  he  resisted  a  strong  temp- 
tation, he  may  form  a  new  proposition,  "  some  persons  are 
proof  against  every  temptation." 

A  man  who  picked  up  a  dollar  which  he  saw  fall  from 
n  traveller,  did  not  call  to  the  loser,  but  placed  it  in  his 
pocket.  He  afterwards  went  to  a  tavern,  IB  conver- 
sation with  the  landlord,  made  this  gen  co*  .sition  i 
*'  jnen  are  more  honest  in  great  matte  ,  j  small/' 
He  meant  that  he  acted  dishonestly  in  '  storing  the 
dollar,  whilst  in  his  Jhore  extensive  intci  ,urse  with  man- 
kind fee  was  honest.  The  innkeeper,  (who  had  a  week 
previously  found  in  one  of  his  chambers  a  pocket-book 
with  bank  notes,  which  he  intended  to  keep,  though  he 
frequently  corrected  errors  when  his  guests  gave  inadver- 
tantly some  trifle  too  much,)  replied,  that  he  thought 
"  men  were  more  honest  in  small  matters  than  in  great." 

Most  of  the  phenomena  which  are  adduced  in  proof  of 
a  universal  attraction,  were  discovered  after  the  estab- 
lishment by  Newton  of  the  proposition.  Of  these  sub- 
sequent discoveries,  we  may  enumerate  the  experiment  of 
Doctor  Maskelyn  in  Perthshire,  which,  by  ascertaining  that 
a  mountain  would  so  attract  a  plummet  as  to  prevent  it 
from  falling  perpendicularly,  confirmed,  says  the  Encyclo- 
pedia, "  beyond  all  doubt,  the  doctrine  of  universal  gravi- 
tation." 

But,  says  the  writer,  "  in  establishing  a  la.v  of  nature, 
we  should  multiply  experiments:"  accordingly,  he  relates 
one  made  with  two  leaden  balls  in  1788,  by  Mr.  Caven- 
dish. The  facts  thus  adduced,  combined  with  the  former, 
prove,  says  the  Encyclopedia, — what  ?  The  phenomena 

11 


82  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;    (LeC.  4. 

exhibited  ?  JVo — they  prove,  says  the  writer,  *«  that  every 
particle  of  matter  gravitates  to  every  other  particle/'  And 
this  is  correct,  for  the  proposition,  how  general  soever,  sig- 
nifies no  more  than  the  experiments  to  which  it  refer*. 
Tradition  says,  that  the  law  was  originally  suggested  to 
Newton  by  the  full  of  an  apple  from  a  tree ;  and  if  he  allu- 
ded to  no  o»r'er  phenomenon,  the  proposition  meant  origi- 
nally no  r  bin  that  simple  occurrence.  I  do  not,  bow- 
ever,  .  --i  enumerate  the  phenomena  to  which  the 
propositiO.  rs,  nor  to  restrict  its  application  ;  I  wish  to 
show  only  v  *c.  mlitics  which  render  general  propositions 
significant,  ;>nd  which  limit  their  significancy. 

To  say  that  the  earth  is  a  sphere,  that  it  revolvqg  round 
the  sun,  and  round  its  own  axis  ;  that  the  moon  influences- 
the  tides,  and  that  there  arc  antipodes,  are  troths  so  long 
as  we  consider  the  expressions  significant  of  certain  phe- 
nomena to  which  the  propositions  refer.  If  you  inquire 
of  an  astronomer  whether  the  earth  is  a  sphere,  he  will 
immediately  refer  you  to  various  phenomena.  He  will 
desire  you  to  notice  what  he  terms  the  earth's  shadow  in 
an  eclipse  of  the  moon,  the  gradual  disappearance  of  the 
hull  of  a  ship  as  it  recedes  from  the  shore,  &.c.  After  hear- 
ing all  that  he  can  adduce  in  proof  of  the  earth's  sphericity, 
consider  his  proposition  significant  of  these  phenomena. 
If  you  deem  it  significant  beyond  them,  you  are  deceived 
by  the  forms  of  language. 

Nature,  rays  an  astronomer,  lias  drawn  an  impenetra- 
ble curtain  :  between  the  inhabitants  of  the  sun,  and  the 
worlds  which  circulate  around  them.  She  has  doomed 
them  to  the  most  solitary  dwelling  in  creation,  and  has 
marked  them  us  cither  unlit  to  enjoy  the  noble  privileges 
of  intelligent,  beings,  or  a:s  unworthy.  The  planets  arid 


Lee.   4.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  83 

the  stars  are  invisible  from  the  surface  of  the  sun,  unless 
a  transcient  glance  is  obtained  through  an  accidental 
opening  in  the  solar  atmosphere.  From  the  year  1676  to 
1684  there  was  no  such  opening,  consequently  the  inhabi- 
tants of -the  sun  never,  during  eight  successive  years,  ob- 
tained a  view  pf  the  starry  firmament. 

That  we  might  not  waste  our  commiseration  at  this 
tale  of  wo,  the  writer  has  happily  furnished  us  with  his 
meaning.  It  is  very  simple,  though  in  the  language  of 
Shakspeare,  it  thunders  in  the  index.  It  is  this,  "  from 
the  year  1676  to  1684,  there  was  not  a  single  spot  dis- 
coverable in  the  sun's  ntmosphefe." 

When  a  man  hears  that  the  sun  is  a  body  of  fire,  he  is 
apt  to  think  that  his  informant  possesses  much  secrete  in- 
formation ;  but  the  knowledge  possessed  of  the  sun  by  the 
learned,  differs  not  essentially  from  that  enjoyed  by  the  il- 
literate. The  learned  are  acquainted  with  more  telesco- 
pical  appearances  than  the  illiteratq,  and  have  recorded 
more  of  the  sun's  phenomena ;  but  the  principal  phe- 
nomena are  known  to  both,  and  appear  aliko  to  all.  The 
sun  has  been  successively  called  a  demon,  a  heated  stone, 
a  body  of  glass,  a  mass  of  fire,  and  an  inhabited  globe. 
At  any  period,  if  a  philosopher  had  enumerated  the  phe- 
nomena which  constituted  the  meaning  of  his  langungr, 
no  skepticism  would  have  been  exhibited  ;  but  the  un:- 
ployment  of  such  language,  without  this  explanation,  has 
ever  encountered  opposition.  This  alone  ought  to  have 
made  philosophers  suspect  either  that  there  was  some  de- 
fect in  their  speculations,  or  iu  the  interpretation  which 
was  applied  to  them. 

The  science  of  medicine  has  suffered  moro  than  any 
other,  by  an  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  genera!  proposi- 


84  TUB    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;      [LeC.  4. 

tions.  Physicians-  qan  seldom  sec  the  scat  of  a  disease, 
or  apply  direct  remedies  to  it.  They  are  but  little  more 
favoured  than  a  clock-maker,  who  should  be  bound  to  dis- 
cover the  defects  of  a  clock,  and  to  repair  them  by  opera- 
ting through  the  key-hole.  Embarrassed  thus  by  nature, 
they  have  augmented  every  difficulty  by  enveloping  thcrir 
knowledge  and  experience  in  general  propositions.  Doc- 
tor Parry  in  his  Elements  of  Pathology,  says,  "  the  BAI*- 
guiferous  system  isthe'source  of  almost  all  diseases,  partly 
in  consequence  of  the  natural  constitution  o"f  the  body, 
and  partly  from  the  habits  of  civilized  society."  Diseases 
proceed  generally,  he  supposes,  from  an  excess  either  in 
the  quantity  or  momentum  of  the  blood. 

The  above  speculation  refers  undoubtedly  to  some  phe- 
nomena ;  but,  as  I  know  them  not,  the  language  is  to  me 
insignificant.  Still,  if  Doctor  Parry  had  adduced  the  par- 
ticulars to  which  he  alludes,  the  difficulty  would  be  that  he 
and  his  disciples,  would  estimate  particulars  as  the  mere 
explanation  of  his  general  propositions,  and  suppose  that 
the  propositions  had  a  meaning  independent  of  the  par- 
ticulars. 

In  practice,  this  mode  of  interpretation  is  pernicious. 
For  instance,  Cullen  asserts  that  when  any  external  cause 
produces  in  us  a  morbid  action,  nature  exerts  an  opposite 
process  to  counteract  the  evil :  thus,  an  excessive  load  of 
food  forced  into  the  stomach  has  a  tendency  to  destroy 
life,  but  the  stomach  resists  the  evil,  and  disgorges  its 
contents.  Now  some  medical  writers  assert  a  conflicting 
proposition.  They  say,  that  every  morbid  change  which  oc- 
curs in  our  system,  is  essentially  injurious,  arid  must  be  op- 
posed by  medicine;  if  the  stomach  is  discharging  its  con- 


LeC.  4.  J  OK,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  35 

tents,  the  physician  must  endeavour  to  prevent  the  dis- 
charge. 

Two  physicians  who  should  severally  enforce  tke  above 
propositions,  would  employ  opposite  remedies.     But  to 
act  thus  proceeds  from  an  erroneous  belief  that  the  pro- 
positions are  significant  of  more  than  certain  particulars. 
A  person  who  knows  the  particulars  to  which  each  propo- 
sition alludes,  and  considers  it  significant  of  them  alone, 
will  probably  find  that  both  propositions  are  correct. 
—  A  father  said  once,  my  son,  there  is  in  water  a  princi- 
ple which  is  destructive  of  life,  and  there  is  in  brandy  a 
principle    preservative  of  life.     The  father  meant,  that 
total  immersion  in  water  would  produce  death,  and  that  a 
small  quantity  of  brandy  was  occasionally  salutary.    The 
proposition  was  correct  while  confined  to  the  particulars 
to  which  the  father  alluded  ;  but  the  son,  supposing  its  ap- 
plication universal,  refrained  from  the  use  of  water,  and 
substituted  brandy.       We  all   err  in  a  similar  manner, 
though  not  always  in  a  like  degree,  when  we  consider  any 
general  proposition  significant  of  more  than  certain  par- 
ticulars ;  and  if  those  who  promulge  general  propositions, 
will  not  announce  the  particulars  to  which  they  refer,  we 
have  still  every  thing  to  learn. 

How  much  controversy  our  physicians  have  employed 
on  the  origin  of  yellow  fever,  some  asserting  that  it  is  in- 
digenous, and  others  exotic.  Each  proposition  can  be 
significant  of  nothing  but  certain  particulars,  but  the  dis- 
putants attach  to  it  a  meaning  beyond  the  particulars  ; 
an  extension  which  language  is  incapable  of  possessing. 
Were  each  partisan  to  detail  the  particulars  to  which  he 
refers,  there  would%  probably  be  no  disagreement;  but 
while  he  deems  his  proposition  significant  of  more  than 


86 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;      [L.CC.  4. 


the  particulars,  there  is  endless  controversy.  Each  thinks 
justly  that  the  other  errs,  but  he  knows  not  .that  he  also  is 
equally  erroneous  ;  that  the  same  ignorance  of  the  nature 
of  language  m  isleads  both. 

When  we  obtain  all  the  facts  which  relate  to  any  sub- 
ject, we  obtain  every  thing  that  is  essential.  Convenience 
requires  that  the  facts  should  have  a  name  ;  but  we  may 
employ  exotic  or  indigenous,  or  any  other  word,  and  the 
only  profitable  controversy  is,  whether  we  have  selected  an 
appropriate  name.  The  controversy  may  be  important  in 
lexicography,  but  to  suppose  it  essential  to  either  medi- 
cine or  philosophy,  is  to  reverse  the  order  of  nature,  and 
to  consider  the  name  more  material  than  the  phenomena 
named  ;  or  rather,  it  is  to  mistake  the  nature  of  language, 
by  supposing  that  a  general  proposition  signifies  more 
than  the  particulars  to  which  it- refers. 

Similar  to  the  above  is  another  controversy  of  physi- 
cians, whether  certain  diseases  ure  infectious  »r  conta- 
gious. Suppose,  says  Doctor  Francis,  A  to  be  ill  of  dy- 
sentery ;  he  is  in  a  small  confined  apartment,  his  person 
is  neglected,  the  atmosphere  around  him  is  rendered  im- 
pure and  offensive ;  under  these  circumstances,  B  visits 
him,  and  in  a  few  days  becomes  sick  with  the  same  dis- 
ease. Doctor  Bailey,  and  others  who  adopt  the  doctrine 
of  infection  as  opposed  to  contagion,  insist  that  the  disor- 
der of  B  proceeds  from  the  impure  air  of  A's  chamber, 
and  not  from  any  thing  emanating  from  the  body  of  A  ; 
but,  says  Doctor  Francis,  as  we  may  without  hazard  visit 
an  equally  filthy  chamber  where  C  lies  ill  of  a  broken 
limb,  I  ascribe  the  disease  of  B  to  a  peculiar  virus  genera- 
ted in  the  system  of  A  by  the  disease  under  which  he  la- 
bours, and  communicated  by  his  excretions,  to  the  sur- 
rounding atmosphere.  . 


LeC.  4.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  87 

Now  what  is  the  controversy  between  Doctors  Francis 
and  Bailey  ?  It  is  whether  the  disorder  of  B  proceeds 
from  a  peculiar  virus  generated  in  the  system  of  A,  or 
simply  from  the  impurity  of  A's  chamber.  I  know  this 
seems  to  be  the  controversy.  They  brandish  at  one 
another  general  propositions,  without  knowing  that  no 
proposition  is  significant  of  more  than  certain  particular 
phenomena.  The  moment  they  appreciate  this  fact,  they 
will  discover  that  their  controversy  is  not  terminable  by 
words,  bujt  by  observation  and  testimony.  For  instance, 
let  Doctor  Francis  enumerate  all  the  phenomena  to  which 
his  general  proposition  alludes;  let  him  say,  that  B  will 
not  become  diseased  if  he  visits  the  impure  chamber  of  C, 
who  lies  ill  of  a  broken  limb.  If  Doctor  Bailey  denies  this 
assertion,  the  controversy  becomes  a  question  of  fact, 
which  is  terminable  by  an  experiment,  and  not  by  debate. 

After  all  the  facts  to  which  Dr.  Francis  alludes  are  thus 
substantiated,  it  becomes  immaterial  by  what  name  they 
are  denoted  ;  whether  he  alludes  to  them  by  saying  that 
B  is  disordered  by  a  peculiar  virus  generated  in  the  sys- 
tem of  A,  or  by  the  impurities  simply  of  A's  chamber. 
One  phrase  may  be  more  philologically  correct  than  ano- 
ther, and  on  this  subject  the  parties  may  debate  and  quote 
authorities ;  but  while  they  are  settling  the  propriety  of 
phraseology,  let  them  not  suppose  that  their  controversy 
is*  important  to  medicine ;  let  them  not  confound  verbal 
criticism  with  an  investigation  of  phenomena.  To  make 
nil  men  use  the  same  collocation  of  words  is  impracticable. 
The  attempt  has  filled  the  world  with  controversy  with- 
out bringing  us  to  the  desired  uniformity.  We,  however, 
greatly  aggravate  the  difliculty,  by  not  knowing  that  every 
proposition  has  as  many  meanings  as  it  possesses  a  refer- 


88  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;         [L«C.  4. 

enee  to  different  particulars  ;  and  hence,  that  two  men 
may  employ  different  propositions  while  they  refer  to  the 
same  phenomenon,  and  that  they  may  employ  the  same 
proposition  while  they  refer  to  different  phenomena. 

I  had  two  servants  from  different  parts  of  Wales.  They 
were  repeatedly  disagreeing  about  the  customs  of  their 
native  country,  though  the  assertions  of  both  ware  cor- 
rect, for  each  alluded  to  his  own  district.  I  am  so  confi- 
dent that  nearly  every  declaration  is  true  ia  the  manner 
intended  by  the  speaker,  that  I  rarely  contradict.  If  a 
man  tells  me  in  the  meridian  of  a  delightful  day  that  the 
air  feels  as  if  we  were  shortly  to  have  rain,  I  conclude  that 
his  assertion  announces  something  unknown  to  me— per- 
haps the  recognition  of  a  feel  which  he  has  observed  to 
precede  rain  :  hence  I  do  not  deny  his  prediction,  for  it  is 
true  in  the  manner  that  he  intends;  and  he  would  proba- 
bly construe  my  denial  into  an  assertion  that  he  does  not 
experience  the  feel  which  constitutes  tho  meaning  of  his 
prediction. 

-  I  heard  a  man  contend  that  no  degree  of  heat  could 
melt  diamonds;  whilst  another  was  positive  that  they, 
would  melt.  I  discovered  that  he  who  asserted  their  , fu- 
sibility, referred  to  nothing  but  an  article  which  he  had 
read  in  a  Cyclopedia  ;  and  he  who  maintained  their  infu- 
sibility,  referred  to  an  assertion  of  his  father.  Both  per- 
sons were  positive,  because  they  intended  no  more  than  tho 
above  facts.  If*  however,  each  had  discovered  the  other's 
meaning,  the  controversy  would  probably  not  have  termi- 
nated. It  would  unconsciously  have  changed  to  another 
question,  whether  the  Cyclopedia  was  entitled  to  more  cre- 
dence than  the  father ;  the  discussion  of  which  would  have 
produced  an  altercation  as  virulent  as  the  former,  and 


.  4.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  89 

with  as  little  understanding  by  eacli  disputant  of  the  facts 
referred  to  by  the  other. 

From  an  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  general  proposi- 
tions, we  often  find  them  in  books  and  conversation  unac- 
companied with  any  particulars.  Such  propositions  are 
unintelligible,  unless  we  can  apply  some  particular  to 
them.  For  instance,  the  above  is  a  general  proposition. 
What  can  you  understand  from  it  ?  I  have  elucidated  it 
by  no  example,  and  if  you  can  think  of  none,  the  propo- 
sition will  be  insignificant.  •  If,  however,  you  can  think 
of  an  example,  it  will  probably  be  different  from  any 
thing  that  has  fallen  under  my  observation  ;  hence  we 
may  verbally  possess  the  same  information,  while  it  is 
wholly  dissimilar. 

But  what  did  I  allude  to  ?  The  following  from  Profes- 
sor Stewart :  "  we  are,"  says  he,  "  enabled,  by  our  in- 
stinctive anticipations  of  physical  events,  to  accommodate 
our  conduct  to  what  we  perceive  is  to  happen."  This  is 
followed  I  believe  with  no  example,  hence  it  will  be  insig- 
nificant to  every  person  who  cannot  attach  to  it  some  in- 
cident. The  event  which  it  caused  me  to  think  of,  was  the 
falling  of  a  tree.  Instinctive  anticipation  would  enable 
me  to  perceive,  that  I  should  be  crushed,  if  I  did  not  ac- 
commodate my  conduct  to  what  was  to  happen  ;  that  is,  if 
I  did  not  change  my  position.  Probably  Mr.  Stewart 
thought  of  something  different,  and  the  event  to  which  I 
allude  may  never  have  occurred  to  his  observation. 

Plato  explained  the  gradual  decay  of  the  human  sys- 
tem by  saying,  matter  was  first  converted  by  Deity  into 
bodies  of  triangular  shapes.  Of  these  the  elements  were 
constituted,  and  they  assumed  regular  geometrical  figures. 
Fire  became  a  pyramid,  the  earth  a  cube,  the  air  an  oc- 

12 


90  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [liCC.  4. 

t abed i on,  and  water  an  icosahcdron.  The  human  frame 
was  composed  of  these  elements,  and  as  their  angles  be- 
come by  time  blunted,  and  unable  to  retain  their  hold,  the 
fabric  gradually  dissolves. 

This  is  not,  the  ravings  of  insanity,  but  the  laboured 
production  of  a  wise  man.  He  doubtless  had  some  par- 
ticulars to  which  his  propositions  referred  ;  but  as  we 
know  them  not,  his  language  is  as  insignificant  as  the  most 
disconnected  prattle  of  infancy. 

Other  writers  avoid  the  above  error.  If  they  involve 
any  simple  fact  in  a  general  proposition,  they  prudently 
subjoin  the  fact  by  way  of  example  ;  though  it  truly  con- 
stitutes all  the  meaning  of  their  proposition  :  thus,  the 
more,  says  St.  Piere,  temples  are  multiplied  in  a  state, 
the  more  is  religion  enfeebled. 

What  did  St.  Piere  mean  ?  you  will  find  in  his  succeed- 
ing paragraph.  Look,  says  he,  at  Italy,  covered  with 
churches,  yet  Constantinople  is  crowded  with  Italian  rone- 
gadoes  ;  while  the  Jews,  who  had  but  one  temple,  are  so 
strongly  attached  to  their  religion,  that  the  loss  of  their 
temple  excites,  to  this  day,  their  regret. 

This  general  proposition  means  but  the  above  particu^ 
lars,  therefore  you  need  not  controvert  the  position,  and 
show  that  in  your  country  the  increase  of  temples  in- 
creases the  number  and  zeal  of  .worshippers.  If  you  ar- 
gue with  St.  Piere,  place  the  contest  on  its  proper  basis, 
blame  him  for  using  words  in  a  way  which  you  do  not  ap- 
prove, but  not  for  denying  facts  to  which  he  never  alluded. 

Malebranch,  in  accounting  for  the  phenomena  of  memo- 
ry, says,  in  childhood  the  fibres  of  the  brain  arc  soft  and 
flexible  j  but  time  dries  and  hardens  them,  so  that  in  old 
age  they  are  gross  and  inflexible.  . 


.  4.]  OB,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  91 

Malcbranch  is  not  enumerating  any  phenomena  dis- 
coverable by  inspection  of  the  brain.  What  then  does  he 
mean  ?  It  follows  in  his  own  words  :  "  we  see  that  flesh 
hardens  by  time,  and  that  a  young  partridge  :-  ire  ten- 
der than  an  old  one."  -You  may  wonder  wu"  ••  '  has  to 
do  with  memory.  I  know  not.  It  has,  howev  o  w;*p 

his  theory,  and  it  probably  constitutes  all  h      <c        by  * 
hardness  and  inflexibility  which  he  mak'    .kgo  inflict  upon 
tfye  brain. 

Mr.  Hawkesbee  asserts,  that  the  Aurora  Borealis  is  the 
effect  of  electricity  on  a  vacuum.  What  does  he  mean? 
He  states  subsequently  as  follows,  "  the  excitation  of  elec- 
tricity in  an  exhausted  Florence  flask,  produced  a  light 
which  resembled  the  aurora."  Another  person  who  shall 
find  that  all  the  phenomena  of  the  Aurora  Borealis  can* 
not  be  thus  imitated,  will  insist  that  Mr.  Hawkesbee  is 
wrong;  but  in  truth  both  arc  right,  for  they  mean  seve- 
rally no  more  than  the  facts  to  which  each  refers.  The 
difference  between  them  is  in  their  language,  apart  from 
which  they  will  agree  entirely. 

From  an  ignorance  of  the  principle  which  I  have  ilow 
endeavoured  to  illustrate,  that  when  a  person  uses  a  gene- 
ral proposition,  he  means  by  it  no  more  than  a  few  par- 
ticulars, we  arc  prone  to  award  unmerited  commenda- 
tion to  the  authors  of  general  propositions  :  thus,  the  as- 
sertion attributed  to  Pythagoras,  that  the  earth  revolves 
round  the  sun,  is  supposed  to  imply  a  knowledge  by  him 
of  the  Newtonian  theory ;  while  probably  no  feature  of  it 
was  ever  imagined  by  Pythagoras.  He  may  have  intend- 
ed some  particulars  thai  ha;c  lung  been  exploded  from 
science. 


92  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [LeC.  4* 

Lord  Bacon  asserts  in  his  Aphorisms,  that  reason  is  sup- 
posed to  govern  the  words  of  men,  but  that  words  have 
often  power  to  react  upon  reason.  This  aphorism,  sayt 
Profess'  ^tcwart,  may  be  considered  as  the  text  of  the 
most  -  ,,art  of  Locke's  Essays,  the  part  which  re- 

1*  tea  perfections  and  abuse  of  words  :  but  it  was 

till  \l  He  last  twenty  years  that  its  depth  and  im- 
portance were  t  reived  in  their  full  extent. 

Mr.  Steward  alludes  to  what  has  been  written  since  the 
time  of  Bacon,  by  Mr.  Prevost  and  M.  Degerando ;  "but 
Bacon  is  no  more  entitled  to  credit  for  the  observations 
which  have  subsequently  been  marshalled  under  his  apho- 
rism, than  the  man  who  first  formed  the  word  Napoleon, 
is  entitled  to  the  renown  that  has  lately  been  connected 
with  that  appellation.  The  aphorism,  when  invented  by 
Lord  Bacon,  was  sensible  and  significant,  as  we  find  by  a 
reference  to  it  in  his  Novum  Organum.  What  he  intended, 
he  there  expressed  in  the  context,  and  farther  than  this 
the  proposition  Had  probably  no  signification  in  his  under- 
standing. 

Finally  then,  if  we  would  appreciate  the  nature  of  gene- 
ral propositions,  we  must  remember  that  each  possesses  as 
many  significations  as  it  possesses  a  reference  to  different 
particulars  ;  and  that  no  general  proposition  possesses  any 
significance,  if  it  refers  to  no  particular. 


LOC.  6.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE 


93 


LJ2CJTITRK    V. 


THE  earth  possesses  gradations  of  temperature,  from  the 
frigidity  of  a  polar  winter,  to  the  intensity  of  an  equato- 
rial summer.  With  the  fur  involved  Esquimaux  we  may 
dwell  in  houses  of  undissolving  ice,  repose  on  ledges  of 
everlasting  snow,  and  picncc  the  huge  Walrus  amid  an  ac- 
cumulated frost  of  ages  :  or  with  the  swart  and  cladless 
Ethiopcaii  we  may  bask  in  the  ardour  of  a  tropic  sun ;  re- 
pose in  scorching  groves,  and  press  the  gushing  lusciousness 
of  spontaneous  fruits.  We  may  cvcnavoidboth  extremes. 
We  may  enjoy  uninterrupted  serenity  ;  a  sky  that  never 
clouds ;  a  herbage  that  never  fades  ;  a  cold  and  heat  so 
attempered  that  the  thought  of  cither  is  unnatural. 

This  is  poetry,  but  not  fiction.  It  is  the  romance  of  na- 
ture :  yet,  with  this  diversity  before  him,  and  sensitive  to 
its  effects,  man  scarcely  ever  changes  his  location  with  a 
view  to  climate.  \s  the  Ucc  falls  il  lies;  and  where  Pro- 
vidence decree^  oiu  biilh,  we  also  aic  stationary-  This 


94  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LiCC.  6. 

curious  trait  in  the  human  character  may  be  heightened 
if  we  reflect  on  the  power  of  our  appetites,  and  the  turbu- 
lence of  our  passions.  To.  satiate  his  appetites,  a  man 
will  dissipate  suddenly  the  labours  of  his  ancestors  ;  and  to 
gratify,  his  passions,  he  will  renounce  reputation  and  ha- 
zard existence.  Still  there  is  no  luxury  of  flood,  field,  or 
air ;  but  in  some  regions  is  the  banquet  of  peasants  : 
and  there  is  no  passion  so  irregular  but  in  some  countries 
its  object  is  lawful  enjoyment.  But  again  these  tempta- 
tions faH  to  allure.  The  most  rigid  moral  discipline,  and 
the  coarsest  of  nature's  caterings,,  remove  not  even  the 
sensual  from  the  land  of  their  nativity. 

A  similar  idiosyncracy  is  apparent  when  we  select  our 
occupations.  .As  there  is  no  labour  but  will  yield  a  mainte- 
nance, we  should  determine  theoretically  that  a  man  who 
has  no  higher  object  than  a  subsistence,  would  select  the 
least  offensive  employment  that  will  compass  his  object ; 
still,  experience  teaches  that,  although  the  love  of  case  and 
life  is  a  predominant  passion,  the  most  laborious  pursuits, 
and  the  most  noxious,  are  supplied  with  followers  as  rea- 
dily as  the  most  easy  and  healthful. 

Literature  presents  the  same  peculiarity-  We  might 
reasonably  imagine  that  a  man  who  devotes  his  life  to  li- 
terature, (a  devotion  in  itself  perverse)  would  select  sub- 
jects in  which  the  playfulness  of  fancy,  or  the  vivacity  of 
wit,  would  relieve  the  irksomencss  of  composition ;  at 
least,  that  he  would  avoid  the  tedious  labyrinths  of  meta- 
physics, and  the  straightened  avenues  of  logic :  toils  which 
seldom  can  supply  even  the  forlorn  consolation,  that  a 
French  authoress  has  extracted  from  an  assimilation  with 
a  lamp ;  that  she  consumes  to  enlighten  others.  Yet  here 
also  the  rugged  'vuHio  of  life,  arc  vohiiiiiuily  thronged 


LeC.  5.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  95 

equally  with  the  most  agreeable.   This  thought  is  gloomy, 
but  it  happily  suggests  the  subject  of  our  lecture. 

I  have  heretofore  stated  three  important  and  fundamen- 
tal principles  of  language.  I  shall  now  present  a  fourth  ; 
a  principle  as  fundamental  as  any  of  the  former,  and  more 
essential  than  all  of  them  to  a  just  apprehension  of  human 
knowledge.  It  is  this — language  can  effect  no  more  than 
to  refer  us  to  phenomena.  In  painting  we  are  forced  not 
only  to  delineate  objects  with  the  colours)  how  incongru- 
ous soever  that  we  possess ;  but  there  arc  numerous  ex- 
istences to  the  delineation  of  which  all  colours  arc  inap- 
plicable. Even  to  intimate  that  colours  arc  unable  to  re- 
present sounds,  tastes,  and  smells,  seems  absurd  from  the 
obviousness  of  the  fact. 

The  boundary  which  separates  the* phenomena  that 
may  be  represented  by  colours,  from  those  to  which  co- 
lours are  inadequate,  is,  therefore,  sufficiently  defined  ; 
but  no  writer  has  imagined  that  there  is  a  limit  beyond 
which  words  also  cannot  discourse.  Nor  is  the  latter  po- 
sition easily  conceived,  for  We  can  no  more  exemplify 
witH  words  that  there  is  a  limit  to  their  applicability,  than 
a  painter  can  demonstrate  with  colours,  that  there  arc 
phenomena  which  colours  cannot  delineate. 

That  language  can  effect  no  more  than  a  reference  to 
phenomena,  springs  from  no  conventional  limitation,  but 
is  founded  in  the  nature  of  human  knowledge.  We  shall 
conceive  this,  when  we  reflect  that  our  knowledge  is  com- 
posed of  sights,  tastes,  feels,  smells,  and  sounds.  Now, 
the  most  forcible  language,  and  the  most  fluent  utterance,' 
arc  inadequate  to  infuse  into  the  blind  a  knowledge  of 
'colours.  Why:  Ilccau.-c  colours  arr  sights, '  aud"nothing 
can  reveal  to  us  sights  hut  i-cciu.^.  We  may  apply  the 


96  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  J       [LeC.  5. 

same  conclusion  to  every  other  item  of  our  knowledge. 
Words  cannot  supply  the  place  of  any  sense — they  can 
simply  refer  us  to  what  our  senses  have  disclosed. 

This  is  perhaps  sufficiently  evident,  hut  it  is  an  impor- 
tant fact  in  the  philosophy  of  human  knowledge,  and  egre- 
giously  disregarded.  Permit  me  then  to  discuss  more 
minutely  thrs  seemingly  self-evident  truth,  and  to  premise 
five  propositions.  Any  sight  is  unknown  to  me  which  see- 
ing has  not  informed  me  of;  any  sound  is  unknown  to  me 
which  hearing  has  not  informed  me  of;  any  taste  is  un- 
known to  me  which  tasting  has  not  informed  me  of;  any 
feel  is  unknown  to  me  which  feeling  has  not  informed  me 
of;  and  any  smell  is  unknown  to  me  which  smelling  has  not 
informed  me  of.  Truth  has  generally  two  aspects.  One 
is  so  gross  that  every  person  sees  it ;  the  other  so  subtle 
that  the  most  acute  pass  it  unnoticed.  For  instance,  that 
words  cannot  reveal  colours  to  tho  blind,  is  too  obvious  to 
record,  while  the  kindred  fact,  that  no  sight  which  a  per- 
son has  not  seen  can  be  known  to  him,  has  been  denied 
by  even  the  sagacious  Hume. 

He  says,  "  suppose  a  man  has  enjoyed  sight  for  thirty 
years,  and  become  acquainted  with  every  colour  except  a 
particular  shade  of  blue.  Let  now  all  the  shades  of  blue, 
except  the  above,  be  placed  before  him  in  an  order  de- 
scending gradually  from  the  deepest  blue  to  the  highest. 
He  will  perceive  a  greater  difference  between  the  contigu- 
ous colours,  where  (he  intermediate  shade  is  absent, than 
between  any  other  two  contiguous  colours ;  and,"  con- 
tinues Hume,  "  I  ask,  whether  he  will  not  be  able,  by 
his  imagination,  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  absent 
shade  ?" 


LeC.  i.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  »7 

Hume  asserts  that  he  can.  He  is  wrong.  The  absent 
shade  is  a  sight,  and  nothing  can  reveal  it  but  his  eyes. 
He  may  discover  a  greater  difference  between  the  con- 
tiguous shades  A  and  B,  than  between  any  other  two  con- 
tiguous shades;  but  the  law  which  prevents  blind  men 
from  knowing  any  colour,  disenables  him  from  knowing 
the  appearance  of  the  absent  shade.  The  moment  it 
meet  his  eyes,  he  wiil  be  conscious  of  a  new  sight. 

But,  if  we  cannot  thus  learn  a  new  appearance,  can  we 
not  by  some  mental  elaboration  compound  our  ideas  ;  com- 
mix known  sights,  and  discover  the  effects  which  result 
from  juxta  position  or  separation  ?  Whatever  produces  a 
change  of  appearance,  is  essentially  a  new  sight ;  and  ir- 
remediably unknown  till  disclosed  by  our  eyes.  It  hap- 
pens often  that  a  drowned  man,  who  is  found  after  some 
mutilation,  is  not  recognized  by  his-  intimate  friends. 
Many  features  may  be  unchanged,  but  they  are  seen  iir  a 
new  connexion.  If  the  body  is  eventually  recognized,  it 
is  by  looking  singly  at  some  part  which  is  unchanged. 

To  speak  of  a  less  revolting  calamity,  suppose  some  of 
us  should  grow  old,  and  being  anxious  to  linger  in  the 
precincts  of  youth,  should  change  his  grizzled  and  scanty 
locks  for  glossy  and  exuberant  ringlets.  Need  we  an  ac- 
tual glance  to  teach  us  how  this  new  combination  of  fa- 
miliar sights  will  affect  the  appearance  of  Our  father  or 
brother  ?  Let  language  be  exhausted  i/i  describing  the 
new  appearance.  Let  feeling,  and  every  other  sense  ex- 
ert their  powers  to  inform  you,  and  then  direct  your  eyes 
to  the  metamorphosed  individual,  and  you  will  receive  an 
instantaneous  communication  which  no  other  means  can 
yield. 

ia 


?«  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;          [L*0,  6- 

If  I  have  seen  the  change  produced  by  such  a  process 
in  A,  I  do  not  assert  that  language  cannot  inform  me  that  C 
is  similarly  transformed  ;  and  thua  teach  me  the  appear- 
ance of  C,  without  an  inspection.  Language  can  refer  me 
to  any  phenomenon  that  I  have  experienced  ; — but  in  the 
slightest  particular  that  discriminates  the  appearance  of 
C  from  A,  words  can  avail  nothing.  They  can  apprise 
me  that  there  is  a  difference,  and  may  inform  roe  what 
the  difference  is  like,  (so  far  as  they  can  refer  me  to  any 
thing  I  have  seen  ;)  but  beyond  this,  their  most  eloquent 
efforts  fall  upon  my  ear  as  upon  the  ears  of  the  blind  :— 
nature  renders  them  powerless  to  us  both. 

When  a  milliner  wishes  to  know  how  a  ribbon  which 
lies  before  her  will  appear  on  a  hat,  she  does  not  trust  to 
her  ability  to  compound  ideas  ;  but,  from  a  practical  ac- 
quaintance with  the  limitation  of  her  faculties,  applies  the 
ribbon  to  the  hat.  I  have  known  a  good  housewife  view 
with  much  curiosity  a  little  bauble  in  the  hands  of  her 
child  ;  till. by  going  to  her  sideboard  she  discovered  that  it 
was  broken  from  an  urn  from  which  she  has  daily  drunk 
for  years. 

I  shall  not  press  this  point.  That  language  can  re- 
veal to  me  no  sight  that  seeing  has  not  informed  me  of,  is 
a  physical  truth  which  experience  will  substantiate.  I 
have  produced  a  few  examples  for  illustration  merely.  But 
if  the  position  is  true  of  sights,  it  is  equally  true  of  the  in- 
formation furnished  by  our  other  senses.  Let  an  epicure 
prescribe  some  unusual  mixture  of  known  ingredients, 
and  after  his  imagination  has  feasted  on  the  compound, 
|et  him  present  it  to  his  taste,  and  he  will  immediately  dig* 
cover  the  inefficacy  of  his  foreknowledge, 


.  6.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  9t 

Prom  th£  known  inadequacy  of  words  to  rcteal  n«W 
sights,  we  employ  pictures.  But  a  person  who  never  saw 
the  original,  will  receive  from  its  representative  no  sight, 
except  that  of  the  painting.  Many  such  pictures  are  bat 
little  superior  to  hieroglyphics.  Of  these  are  represen- 
tations of  the  sun,  moon  and  stars,  and  of  fire,  water,  snow, 
sunshine,  glass,  clouds,  lightning  and  metals.  Whether 
all  pictures  possess  not  a  portion  of  this  character,  is  pro* 
blematical ;  but  certainly  no  picture  can  display  more  than 
itself.  If  the  appearance  of  the  picture  and  its  original 
are  not  identical,  and  they  seldom  are,  we  shall  be  still 
unacquainted  with  its  original. 

Let  a  youth  study  geography,  and  be  competent  to  de- 
signate on  a  map  or  globe  every  kingdom,  and  to  tell 
its  latitude,  climate,  soil,  productions  and  appearance  ; 
his  knowledge  is  precisely  what  he  displays  :  various  ap- 
pearances on  maps,  globes  and  pictures,  together  with 
words  and  phrases  which  he  has  learnt  to  associate  with 
them.  If  he  thinks  he  knows  any  sight,  taste,  feel,  smell 
or  sound  which  he  never  experienced,  a  visit  to  the 
countries  he  has  been  taught  to  speak  of,  will  undeceive 
him.  He  may  recognize  names  of  places,  names  of  cus- 
toms, and  names  of  natural  productions,  but  the  sights, 
tastes,. feels,  &c.  will  be  new.  All  the  ingenuity  of  man, 
assisted  with  painting,  sculpture  and  eloquence,  cannot 
teach  the  brightest  understanding  the  exact  appearance 
of  even  a  pin ;  except  by  presenting  to  his  eyes  what 
will  produce  a  sight  that  in  every  respect  is  a  pin.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  every  object. 

If  I  have  never  heard  a  cataract,  you  may  inform  me 
what  the  sound  is  like  ;  and  if  I  have  heard  the  similar 
sound,  I  shall  be  instructed  ;  but  language,  nor  any  other 


100  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  J        [L.6C.  6« 

agent,  can  effect  more  than  such  an  approximation.  Should 
you  wish  to  acquaint  a  child  with  the  sound  of  a  cataract, 
his  conception  of  it  will  probably  be  very  erroneous  ;  not 
because  his  faculties  are  less  acute  than  yours,  or  language 
less  operative  on  him  than  on  you  ;  but  because  his  expe- 
rience is  less  than  yours,  and  language  can  be  significant 
to  him  of  his  experience  only.  If  he  has  heard  no  sound 
more  consonant,  you  must  refer  to  even  the  lowing  of  an 
ox.  You  may  qualify  the  comparison,  by  saying  the 
cataract  is  awfully  louder ;  but  if  he  has  heard  nothing 
louder,  the  qualification  will  not  add  to  his  instruction,  ex- 
cept that  it  may  teach  him  he  is  still  ignorant  of  the  correct 
sound  of  a  cataract. 

But  cannot  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  be  combined  00 
that  by  looking  at  the  combination,  seeing  can  teach  me  a 
sound,  that  hearing  never  informed  me  off  I  may  combine 
letters  so  as  to  denote  a  new  sound,  but  the  sound,  so  far 
a*  it  is  new,  will  be  unknown  to  me,  till  my  organs  of  speech 
have  read  the  combination,  and  thus  made  my  hearing  ac- 
quainted with  it.  Seeing  the  letters  can  of  itself  teach  us 
a  new  sound,  no  more  than  it  can  teach  a  deaf  mute. 
Tlie  same  inability  is  common  to  all ,  nor  let  any  person 
suppose  that  he  can  compound  known  sounds,  and  thus 
acquire  a  sound  which  he  never  heard.  Brilliancy  of 
imagination,  and  acuteriess  of  intellect,  cannot  pass  the 
barriers  erected  by  nature.  The  most  practised  musician 
can,  no  more  than  the  most  unskilful,  know  the  sound 
which  will  be  produced  by  a  new  combination  of  familiar 
notes.  So  far  as  the  combination  will  produce  a  sound 
that  he  never  heard,  so  far  the  effect  of  the  combination 
must  be  unknown  to  him.  •.•«*• 


6.]        OB,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  101 

A  person  who  has  never  felt  pain,  (if  we  can  conceive 
such  a  being,)  will  possess  no  correct  meaning  of  the 
word  ;  and  he  who  has  felt  no  greater  pain  than  a  slight 
tooth* ache,  may  be  told  of  the  superior  agonies  of  the 
gout,  but  he  will  be  unable  to  divine  the  feeling.  Lan- 
guage can  effect  no  more  than  to  refer  him  to  his  expe- 
rience. It  cannot  perform  the  office  of  any  of  his  senses. 
It  can  record  phenomena,  but  not  reveal  them. 

Otfr  knowledge  oT  each  other's  feels  is  probably  more 
imperfect  than  of  each  other's  tastes,  sights,  sounds  or 
smells.  The  gout,  consumption,  dropsy  and  other  dis- 
eases, are  feels  which  are  known  to  only  a  small  portion 
of  inakind,  and  collectively  to  no  man. 

From  the  inadequacy  of  language  to  effect  more  than 
a  reference  to  phenomena  which  we  have  experienced, 
arises  the  inofiicacy  of  verbal  instruction.*  A  writing 
master  may  elaborately  direct  a  child  how  to  make  a  per- 
pendicular mark ;  but  in  every  particular  in  which  the 
instructions  refer  to  some  motion  which  the  pupil  has 
never  produced,  or  to  some  muscular  effort  that  he  has 
never  made,  the  instructions  are  as  impotent  as  a  dis- 
course on  colours  is  to  the  blind. 

Ignorance  of  the  above  principle,  induces  us  to  wonder 
at  the  slow  progress  of  learners.  We  repeat  before  them 
the  motions  by  which  we  produce  the  mark,  or  even  guide 
their  hand ;  all  are  ineffectual.  Before  they  can  imitate 
the  mark,  they  must  learn  to  produce  a  certain  muscular 
effort.  This  effort  is  a  feel.  Verbal  instruction  therefore 
cannot  disclose  it  ;  for  hearing  can  inform  us  of  nothing 
but  sounds.  Seeing  the  instructor  write,  cannot  reveal 
the  effort;  for  seeing  can  inform  us  of  nothing  but  sights. 


10ft  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LeC.  5. 

Forcibly  to  move  the  scholar's  hand  cannot  infuse  the  in- 
struction, for  the  effort  which  he  thus  makes  compulsorily, 
will  not  teach  him  the  voluntary  effort/  They  are  differ- 
ent feels.  Only  one  means  can  accomplish  the  instruc- 
tion ;  the  scholar  must  make  random  efforts  till  he  chance 
to  produce  the  required  mark ;  and  learn  thus,  experi- 
mentally, the  necessary  effort. 

Hence  arises  the  necessity  of  practice.  I  may  see  sur- 
gical operations,  and  read  dissertations ;  they  cannot  in- 
spire me  with  a  knowledge  of  the  muscular  effort  that  I 
must  exert  to  take  up  an  artery  or  amputate  successfully 
an  arm.  The  principle  applies  universally:  To  speak, 
sing,  dance  and  walk,  are  performed  by  efforts  that  no  lan- 
guage can  teach  us,  and  with  which  language  has  no  af- 
finity. The  deaf  may  learn  to  speak, "and  the  Wind  to 
write,  and  even  limn  ;  and  the  only  reason  why  they  can- 
not learn  as  readily  as  we,  and  perform  the  operations  as 
well,  is  that  they  lack  the  organs  which  tell  us  what 
modulation  of  voice  is  desirable,  and  what  tints  and  marks 
are  produced  by  our  efforts.  These  topics  belong  to  an 
interesting  branch  of  the  philosophy  of  human  knowledge, 
that  I  do  not  intend  to  discuss  now.  I  adduce  them  to 
illustrate  that  language  can  effect  no  more  than  a  refe- 
rence to  the  phenomena  which  we  have  experienced. 

That  the  significancy  of  language  is  thus  circumscribed 
would  be  readily  admitted,  were  we  not  embarrassed  with 
one  difficulty.  Bonfire  names  a  sight,  and  melody  "a 
sound.  If  these  words  possessed  no  other  signification, 
we  should  immediately  understand  that  the  import  of  bon- 
fire must  ever  be  unknown  to  the  blind,  and  the  import 
of  melody  unknown  to  the  deaf.  But  these  words,  and 
nearly  all  others,  have  a  further  signification :  they  name 


.]  °*>  A  TREATWR  ON  LAfOUAQB.  103 

words  also.     Thip  is  a  roogt  important  distinction,   and 
till  you  fully  understand  it,  you  will  be  liable  to  delusion. 

Recollect,  then,  that  nearly  every  word  has  a  significa- 
tion which  refers  to  our  senses,  and  another  which  refers 
to  words*  The  yerbal  signification  is  usually  termed  a 
definition.  It  is  regulated  by  principles  wholly  different 
from  those  which  govern  the  sensible  signification.  The 
sensible  signification  is  the  phenomena  to  which  the  word 
refers,  and  therefore  nothing  but  our  senses  can  reveal  to 
us  this  signification;  but  the  verbal  signification  of  a 
word  may  be  known  to  any  person  who  possesses  hear- 
ing, and  even  to  those  who  are  void  of  hearing,  if  they 
have  acquired  the  art  of  reading.  The  blind  may  dis- 
course eloquently  about  fires  and  illuminations  ;  and  the 
deaf  mutes  in  our  asylums  may  writs  pertinentfy  about 
melody ;  but  it  is  only  the  verba1  signification  of  these 
words  of  which  either.have  anv  b  owledge. 

It  is  curious  that  so  simple  a  ..  Jtinction  in  the  meaning 
of  words  should  be 'unknown  :  the  disquisitions  of  our 
most  acute  metaphysicians.  They  constantly  disregard 
the  simplicity  of  our  knowleu^e,  and  look  for  truth  either 
above  the  sur  ?e  of  things  or  below  it.  They  have  there- 
fore again  att  mted  to  nature  a  property  which  exists  in 
language  only  .  that  is,  they  have  observed  that  some 
words  are  reducible  into  other  words,  while  some  cannot 
be  so  reduced :  for  instance,  murder  can  be  translated 
into  a  sentence ;  "  a  felonious  killing  with  premeditated 
malice."  The  word  white  cannot  be  thus  translated;  it 
names  a  sight  only.  This  difference,  which  is  purely  an 
artifice  of  language  to  condense  a  sentence  into  a.  single 
word,  has  been  supposed  a  mysterious  mental  process  ; 


104  THE    FHILOSOFIPr    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ; 

and    the    words  which  effect  su«h    condensations,    have 
been  termed  complex  ideas,  abstractions,  <fec.  „ 

Perhaps  no  language  is  00  uncultivated  as  not  to  pos- 
sess word*  of  both  the  above  classes  ;  but  rude  languages 
are  chiefly  composed  of  words  that  name  sensible  pheno- 
mena only,  that  is,  words  which  are  undetinable.  If  we 
examine  th*  English  language  we  shall  fi  nd  that  ou r  Saxon 
words  are  principally  of  the  above  character.  Indeed ,  a 
large  portion  of  our  undefinable  words  arc  Saxon  :  as  fire. 
water,  black,  sun,  earth,  ground,  &e.  And  when  we  find 
an  undefinable  word  that  is  not  Saxon,  we  may  generally 
discover  that  we  have  a  Saxon  word  that  is  synonimous ;  for 
instance,  infant  is  Latin  ;  but  we  hare  the  synonimous 
word  child,  which  is  Saxon. 

When  men  acquire  a  knowledge  of  foreign  languages, 
they  enrich  their  own.  A  foreign  ward  supersedes  gradu- 
ally the  words  which  c-  nsr  itute  its  jnterpretation  ;  instead 
of  saying,  "  an  arm  of  u.  ;  sea/'  we  now  use  the  word  es- 
tuary, and  thereby  condt  ^  «.  sentence  into  a  werd.  Na- 
tive words  are  frequently.  COF  pounded,  so  as  to  condense 
into  one  word  the  signification  of  several  words  .-—ship- 
wreck refers  to  what. was  expressed  origi  lly  by  a  sen- 
tence. ; 

I  do  not  mean  to  enumerate  the  ways  by  which  defina- 
ble words  are  introduced  into  language  and  periphra- 
ses avoided  ;  but  merely  to  illustrate",  by  a  few  examples, 
my  view  of  language.  Definable  words,  though  generally 
the  name  of  other  words,  become  occasionally  the  name 
of  phenomena  :  thus,  if  I  have  never  seen  a  shipwreck, 
the  word  will  signify  to  me  the  words  that  constitute  its 
definition,  conjoined  perhaps  with  some  narratives  and 

. 


.  5.]         OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  108 

graphic  representations.  With,  another  man,  shipwreck 
may  signify  a  sublime  spectacle  which  he  has  seen. 

The  meaning  of  definable  words  is  not  only  thus  differ- 
ent with  different  individuals,  but  it  varies  in  the  same 
individual  at  different  periods.  Shipwreck  signifies  to 
me  at  present  no  more  than  some  words  and  paintings ; 
but  hereafter  it  may  unfortunately  name  a  sight. 

I  have  now  shown  that  we  possess  words  which  signify 
phenomena  only,  as  white,  sour,  pain,  loud,  &c.  and  that 
we  have  other  words  which  sometimes  signify  phenomena 
and  sometimes  words  ;  as  estuary,  shipwreck,  murder,  &c. 
We  have  still  another  class:  words  that  never  signify 
phenomena,  but  words  only.  These  are  not  numerous  in 
any  language,  though  they  probably  exist  in  all  lan- 
guages. Infinity  is  an  example  of  this  class.  It  is  never 
a  sight,  feel,  taste,  or  smell ;  nor  is  it  a  sound,  except  as 
it  names  other  words.  Angel,  paradise,  eternity,  hell, 
and  many  other  words  of  the  highest  importance,  are  also 
of  this  class.  They  name  no  sensible  phenomenon,  but 
refer  for  signification  to  some  gracious  declarations  of 
scripture. 

From  this  glance  at  th«  construction  of  language,  we 
may  easily  see  why  some  words  are  definable,  and  others 
not.  Words  are  definable  when  they  signify  other  words. 
Definable  words  have  therefore  two  significations  ;  a  phe- 
nomenon and  a  phrase.  To  this  distinction  I  wish  to  di- 
rect your  particular  attention.  It  has  never  been  noticed, 
and  produces  dire  confusion  in  every  disquisition  that  re- 
lates to  human  knowledge.  We  find  Locke,  and  his  most 
acute  metaphysical  successors,  asserting  constantly  that 
the  meaning  of  definable  words  can  be  discovered  by 
some  process  distinct  from  sensation.  Green,  violet,  red, 

14 


106  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  J        [LeC.    6. 

&c.  are  undefinable  words,  and  their  meaning  cannot  be 
known  except  by  vision  ;  but  rainbow,  he  says,  is  a  defi- 
nable word;  and  its  meaning  can  be  distinctly  revealed  to 
any  person  who  has  seen  the  colours  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed. 

Jrlere  is  the  ambiguity  and  error  that  I  wish  you  to  no- 
tice : — When  Locke  says,  that  the  meaning  of  rainbow 
can  be  revealed  to  a  person  who  never  saw  the  phenome- 
non, provided  lie  has  seen  red,  violet  and  green,  &c. 
Locke  is  alluding  to  the  verbal  meaning  of  rainbow. 
This  meaning  can  be  known  to  the  blind,  and  I  once  saw 
a  company  much  surprised  when  a  blind  youth  was  ex- 
hibiting what  was  esteemed  a  triumph  of  education  over 
natural  defects,  by  giving  a  copious  explanation  of  the  na- 
ture and  appearance  of  rainbows.  The  company  did  not 
know  that  rainbow  has  two  distinct  significations ; — one 
a  sight  which  nothing  can  reveal  but  seeing,  and  the 
other  certain  words  that  can  be  learnt  by  hearing.  It  was 
the  latter  meaning  only  that  was  known  to  this  blind 
youth,  and  he  was  as  capable  of  acquiring  it  as  we  are. 

But  it  may  be  thought,  we  are  differently  circumstan- 
ced from  the  blind  ;  and  ilia^  an  enumeration  of  the 
colours  of  a  rainbow,  and  of  their  figure,  size,  position 
and  arrangement,  to  us  who  know  the  .phenomena  which 
the  words  signify  severally,  would  reveal  to  us  a  rainbow, 
not  verbally  merely,  but  visibly. 

The  premises  arc,  however,  impossible.  No  person  can 
have  experienced  the  colours  which  compose  a  rainbow, 
and  their  figure,  position  and  arrangement,  without  hav- 
ing seen  a  rainbow.  Take  any  one  of  the  colours,  say 
red :  it  names  not  'one  sight  only,  but  numerous  sights. 
Fire  is  red,  blood  is  red,  my  hand  is  red,  bricks  are  red, 


LOG.  5.]         OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  107 

and  an  Indian  is  red; — which  of  these  is  he  to  imagine, 
when  you  speak  of  the  red  of  a  rainbow  .?  The  same  re- 
mark will  apply  to  the  other  colours  and  to  their  figure, 
position,  and  arrangement. 

But  admit  the  possibility  of  the  premises,  and  that  a 
person  who  has  never  seen  a  rainbow,  shall  still  have 
seen  all  its  colours.  Admit  'further,  that  when  you  enu- 
merate the  colours,  he  shall  guess  the  precise  red,  orange, 
yellow,  &c.  to  which  you  refer; — and  admit  the  like  of 
their  figure,  size,  and  position  ;  yet  it  will  be  impossible 
for  the  person  to  know  how  the  colours  will  look  when 
they  are  combined  ;  much  less,  how  they  will  appear, 
when  drawn  into  the  shape,  size  and  position  of  a  rain- 
bow. If  he  has  seen  such  a  combination,  he  has  seen  a 
rainbow  ;  but  if  he  has  not  seen  the  combination,  lan- 
guage is  inadequate  to  reveal  it.  After  the  most  copious 
definition,  and  after  the  most  familiar  acquaintance  with 
the  phenomena  separately,  that  are  referred  to  by  the  de- 
fining words,  a  person  will  be  conscious  of  a  new  sight 
the  moment  he  sees  a  rainbow. 

Another  common  illustration  of  the  power  of  defini- 
tions, is  furnished  by  the  word  centaur.  We  are  told  that 
a  person  who  has  seen  a  man  and  a  horse,  may,  on  hear- 
ing the  definition  of  centaur,  fantastically  combine  the 
head  of  the  man  with  the  body  of  the  horse,  and  thus  ac- 
quire the  complex  idea  signified  by  the  word  defined. 
The  error  lies  in  supposing  that  the  definition  effects 
more  than  to  teach  us  the  verbal  signification  of  centaur. 
If  hearing  the  definition  could  teach  me  the  sight  centaur, 
hearing  can  perform  the  office  of  vision  ;  a  position  which 
experience  will  momentarily  refute.  So  rigid  is  nature  on 


108  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LeC.  5. 

this  subject,  that  the  most  intimate  acquaintance  with 
two  sights  will  not  enable  me  to  know  the  appearance 
which  they  will  present  when  blended.  The  same  law  regu- 
latesall  our  senses  :  after  drinking  two  liquors,  endeavour 
to  combine  their  flavour,  and  when  you  think  the  mental 
combination  is  complete,  mingle  the  liquors,  and  the  mo- 
ment you  taste  them  you  will  be  conscious  of  a  new  taste. 

If  then  the  object  of  definition  is  to  reveal  any  sight, 
sound,  taste,  feel  or  smell,  that  our  senses  have  never  ex- 
perienced, the  attempt  is  vain  ;  and  it  is  not  more  vain  in 
simple  ideas  than  in  complex ;  in  the  word  white,  than  in 
the  word  rainbow.  But  if  the  object  of  a  definition  is  to 
teach  us  the  verbal  signification  of  any  word,  the  instruc- 
tion is  useful  and  adequate. 

I  hope  you  are  now  proof  against  the  delusion,  that  de- 
finitions can  reveal  to  you  existences  which  your  senses 
never  disclosed.  Verbal  significations  only,  can  be  re- 
vealed by  definitions.  The  position  remains  unshaken 
and  immutable,  that  language  can  effect  no-  more  than 
to  refer  us  to  such  phenomena  as  our  senses  have  revealed 
to  us. 

The  opinion  that  definitions  can  teach  us  more  than  the 
verbal  signification  of  words,  has  descended  from  anti- 
quity. The  ancients,  however,  thought  that  definitions 
were  applicable  to  all  words  ;  while  the  moderns  saw  that 
this  involves  an  admission,  that  we  can  acquire  a  know- 
ledge of  sights  without  the  agency  of  seeing,  &c.— Hence, 
the  moderns  excluded  from  the  power  of  definition  all 
such  words  as  white,  loud,  &c.,  that  signify  phenomena 
only.  They  did  not  perceive  that  other  words  were  de- 
finable only  because  they  had  a  verbal  signification  ;  and 
that  so  far  as  the  object  of  a  definition  is  to  reveal  a  new 


5.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  109 

sight,  taste,  feel,  smell,  &c.  all  words  must  be  equally  un- 
definable.  • 

I  beg  you  to  remember  I  am  not  writing  a  treatise  on 
definitions,  but  was  compelled  to  show  that  language  can 
effect  no  more  than  to  refer  us  to  known  phenomena.  De- 
finitions can  teach  me  the  verbal  signification  of  a  new 
word  ;  but  it  can  teach  me  no  new  phenomenon.  Before 
I  dismiss  definitions,  I  will  remark,  that  the  meaning  of 
angel,  immortality,  eternity,  and  such  other  words  as  sig- 
nify words  only,  must  be  incurably  unknown  to  any  person 
who  possesses  no  language  :  hence  the  difficulty  which  is 
experienced  in  conveying  to  deaf  mutes  any  instruction  on 
subjects  connected  with  eternity.  To  mutes  who  learn  to 
read,  the  difficulty  is  obviated  ;  for  they  acquire  the  mean- 
ing of  definable  words  in  the  same  way  as  we..  There  is, 
however,  this  curious  difference — with  us,  definable  words 
signify  oral  words,  that  is,  sounds ;  but  "with  the  deaf 
mute,  they  signify  written  words — that  is,  sights. 

If  the  instructors  of  the  deaf  will  study  attentively  the 
difference  that  has  now  been  stated  between  the  verbal 
signification  of  a  word,  and  the  sensible  signification,  they 
will  find  it  important  in  the  process  of  instruction  :  for  in- 
stance, suppose  they  wish  to  tench  a  deaf  mute  the  signi- 
fication of  joy,  they  have  to  teach  him  two  significations  ; 
the  verbal  signification,  and  the  sensible.  The  verbal  is 
easily  taught,  after  they  determine  the  form  of  words  into 
which  joy  shall  be  resolvable.  The  sensible  signification 
no  words  can  teach — it  is  a  feel,  and  can  be  disclosed  only 
by  making  the  mute  know  (by  any  method  you  can)  the 
feer  to  which  the  word  alludes.  Every  mute  should  he 
taught  this  difference  in  the  character  of  words,  and  his 
knowledge  will  be  more  rational  and  definite,  and  his  pro- 
gress in  learning  more  rapid  and  agreeable. 


110  THB  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;       [LOG.  5. 

I  shall  conclude  this  Lecture  with  one  observation  :  in 
every  case  in  which  language  seems  to  effect  more  than  a 
reference  to  known  phenomena,  it  refers  to  words  only. 
I  will  illustrate  this  doctrine  with  the  most  .solemn  appli- 
cation I  can  adduce — its  application  to  our  knowledge  of 
death.  Confessedly  we  know  but  little  of  death ;  but 
that  little  is  much  beyond  what  is  actually  known.  Death, 
say  we,  is  at  least  a  state  of  rest.  If  the  dead  feel  no 
pleasure,  they  are  free  from  pain.  Be  they  buried  or  un- 
buricd,  cast  on  a  funeral  pyre,  or  laid  on  a  bed  of  roses, 
is  alike  to  them.  These  expressions  are  significant  and 
true ;  but  not  to  the  extent  that  is  generally  imagined. 
They  are  significant  and  true,  so  long  as  they  refer  to  the 
phenomena  exhibited  by  death  ;  but  the  moment  we  ex- 
tend, in  the-  least,  the  signification-, 


be  it  so  much 


As  makes  it  light  or  heavy  in  the  substance, 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple ;  nay,  if  the  scale  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair," — 

our  words  refer  to  no  archetype  in  nature,  and  are  insig- 
nificant— except  as  they  may  refer  to  declarations  of  holy 
writ.  We  cannot  increase  our  knowledge  of  death  by 
employing  language  upon  it ;  but  by  resorting  either  to 
revelation  or  our  senses.  One  sight  may  be  referred  to 
by  a  thousand  words,  but  the  sight  will  be  neither  en- 
larged nor  multiplied.  Copiousness  may  increase  the  bulk 
of  our  dictionaries,  but  not  our  knowledge  of  nature. 


6.]  -        OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE. 


LECTURE    VI. 


WHEN  Agib,  the  son  of  Zoradcr,  desired  knowledge,  he 
was  commanded  by  a  venerable  Lama  of  Thibet  to  seek 
knowledge  amid  the  stones  which  lie  scattered  over  the 
peninsula  of  Guzurat.  Agib  was  discouraged.  Behold  ! 
said  he,  the  stones  are  countless  ;  the  way  is  also  through 
the  jungle  of  the  tiger,  and  beset  with  the  ravenous  boa. 
Ascend,  then,  said  the  Lama,  the  heights  of  Caucasus,  and 
seek  knowledge  among  the  birds  which  periodically  pass 
from  the  Black  sea  to  the  Caspian.  Alas !  exclaimed 
Agib,  the  mountain  is  infested  with  hostile  tribes,  and 
eternal  snows  disform  its  summit.  Go,  then,  said  the 
Lama,  to  the  beautiful  valley  which  lies  beTore  us ;  pene- 
trate the  earth  in  a  spot  that  you  will  discover,  and  know- 
ledge shall  be  disclosed. 

Agib  departed.  The  sun  burst  from  a  cloud  that  had 
just  irrigated  the  earth.  The  birds  filled  the  air  with 
harmony.  Odours  refreshed  every  breeze,  and  all  nature 
was  animation  and  beauty.  Agib  approached  joyfully  the 


112  THE    PHLOSOTHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE";  [LeC.  6. 

spot  which  the  Lama  had  designated.  Now,  .exclaimed 
he,  knowledge  shall  be  in  my  possession.  Age  shall  ad- 
mire my  attainments,  and  youth  contend  to  show  me  ho- 
nour. He  cast  aside  a  mantle  by  which  his  efforts  might 
be  impeded,  and  excavated  the  earth  with  activity.  Soon, 
however,  the  soil  became  compact,  and  the  strength  of 
Agib  less  efficient ;  when  the  appearance  of  a  mass  of 
stone  seemed  to  preclude  all  further  progress.  Agib  re- 
turned to  the  Lama,  who  decided  that  the  stones  must  be 
removed.  By  great  labour  he  removed  them,  and  the 
cavity  was  immediately  filled  with  water.*  In  despair 
Agib  again  besought  the  Lama,  who  commanded  that 
the  water  should  be  exhausted.  Agib  exhausted  the  water, 
still  nothing  was  discoverable  but  a.  bed  of  slate.  Bruised 
and  dejected,  he  once  more  informed  the  Lama.  Slug- 
gard !  exclaimed  the  weary  priest,  what  did  you  expect  to 
find  ?  You  have  discovered  a  ledge  of  stone  that  may 
build  templed :  you  have  disclosed  a  spring  which  may 
cherish  herds  ;  and  more,  you  have  ascertained  that  though 
the  possession  of  knowledge  may  be  pleasant  and  profita- 
ble, the  pursuit  of  it 'is  laborious  and  painful. 

We  probably  need  not  the  experience  of  Agib  to  teach 
us  that  every  thing  estimable  must  be  costly.  Providence 
seems  to  impress  this  law  on  all  the  blessings  with  which 
we  are  surrounded.  Even  health  cannot  be  retained 
without  labour*  nor  reputation  without  a  constant  warfare 
against  evil  inticements.  Summon  then  all  your  resolu- 
tion to  proceed  with  our  investigations,  though  they  should 
increase  your  information  but  a  very  little  ;  for  remember, 
if  knowledge  wei*j  attainable  without  effort,  it  might  pos- 
sess, like  air  and  water,  a  theoretical  homage;  but  it 
would  command  no  practical  reverence. 


LeC.  6.]        OR,  A.  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  113 

In  my  previous  lectures  I  have  stated  all  the  essential 
qualities  of  language ;  and  I  propose  to  speak  now  of  the 
power  by  which  language  commands  our  assent  to  certain 
propositions ;  for  instance,  why  are  we  forced  to  admit 
that  a  half  is  less  than  the  whole  ? 

This  property  of  language,  like  every  other,  has  been 
much  involved  in  mystery,  though  intrinsically  it  is  very 
simple.  We  assent  to  a  proposition  when  we  find  that 
the  premises  affirm  the  conclusion.  This  is  the  whole 
process  of  argumentation.  The  most  elaborate  reason- 
ing, and  the  most  recondite,  can  effect  no  more  than  to 
show  us  that  the  conclusion  is  admitted  by  the  premises. 
Why,  then,  is  a  half  less  than  the  whole  ?  Because 
the  term  half  admits  that  it  is  less.  There  is  no  other 
reason. 

"  The  table  which  we  see,  seems,"  says  Home,  "  to 
diminish  as  we  remove  from  it  ;  but  the  real  table,  (which 
exists  independently  of  us)  suffers  no  alteration.  What 
we  see  is,  therefore,  nothing,"  continues  Hume,  "  but  the 
image  of  the  real  table." 

I  would  ask,  Why  ?  Because  the  premises  include  an 
admission  that  the  table  which  we  see  is  not  jhe  real  ta- 
ble. Those  who  discover  that  the  premises  affirm  this 
conclusion,  will  assent  to  the  deduction;  while  those  who 
do  not,  will  be  unconvinced.  In  a  syllogism,  the  position  may 
be  stated  thus  :  The  table  which  we  see  diminishes  as  we 
remove  from  it ;  but  the  real  table  suffers  no  diminution. 
Therefore  the  table  which  we  see  is  not  the  real  table. 

"  If  we  are  unable  to  discover  truth,  the  defect,"  says 
Plato,"  "  must  arise  from  one  of  two  causes  ;  either  thei;e 
is  no  truth,  or  man's  faculties  are  inadequate  to  its  dis- 
covery." 

15 


1M  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;         [LeC,  6. 

But  why  are  we  driven  to  this  alternative  ?  Because, 
to  say  that  we  are  unable  to  discover. truth,  admits  tacitly 
the  above  conclusions.  Those  only  will  assent  to  the  di- 
lemma, who  see  that  it  is  included  in  the  premises  ;  other 
persons  will  say  that  they  require  further  proof. 

Carnoades,  who  founded  the  new  academy,  held,  that 
the  senses,  the  understanding,  arid  the  imagination,  fre- 
quently deceive  us ;  and  therefore  cannot  be  infallible. 
Why  ?  Because,  to  admit  that  they  frequently  deceive  us, 
implies  that  they  are  not  infallible. 

.  When  a  writer  finds'  that  his  conclusions  are  not  ob- 
viously admitted  by  his  premises,  he  will  so  explain  the 
premises  as  to  show  that  they  do  embrace  his  conclusions. 
No  question  is  more  important  than  the  existence  of  God, 
and  no  truth  has  been  more  voluminously  enforced  ;  still 
those  who  essay  to  prove  verbally  this  position,  (by  any 
other  authority  than  revelation,)  must  proceed  in  the  man- 
ner which  I  have  stated.  The  arguments  generally  em- 
ployed, are  the  marks  of  design  every  where  apparent ; 
ttnd  the  impossibility  of  a  creation  without  a  creator.  But 
why  can  we  not  suppose  a  creation  without  a  creator  ?  Be- 
cause the  wijrd  creation  includes  the  admission  of  a  crea- 
tor. In  the  same  way,  the  word  contrivance  admits  a 
contriver ;  the  word  design  admits  a  designer ;  and  the 
word  paintings  admits  a  painter. 

"All  the  universe,"  says  Hume,  "exhibits  harmony. 
Everything  is  adjusted  to  every  thing.  One  design  per- 
vades the  whole,  and  this  uniformity  leads  the  mind  to  ac- 
knowledge one  author." 

Why  ?  Because  it  would  be  a  contradiction  to  say,  that 
every  thing  is  adjusted  to  every  thing  ;  and  one  design 
pervades  the  whole  ;  unless  you  admit  that  there  is  an  ad- 


.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE. 

justor  and  a  designer.  An  atheist  would  never  use  such  ex- 
pressions. 

Again,  he  says,  "  the  whole  face  of  nature  bespeaks  an 
intelligent  author,  and  no  rational  inquirer  can  suspend 
his  belief  a  moment  with  regard  to  the  primary  principles 
of  genuine  theism*" 

But  how  does  the  face  of  nature  bespeak  an  intelligent 
author?  Because  it  bespeaks  intelligence.  But  how  does 
the  face  of  nature  bespeak  -an  author  't  Because  I  see  in 
it  a  design)  contrivance,  and  creation.  Before  the  conclu- 
sions of  Hume  are  inevitable,  we  must  admit  these  premi- 
ses, which  tacitly  embrace  the  conclusions  of  Hume* 

Under  the  title  Atheism,  the  Endinburgh  Encyclope- 
dia defends  the  following  proposition  :  "  there  must  be  a 
self-existent  being."  Why  ?  Because,  if  every  thing  which 
exists  was  created  by  another,  we  can  never  arrive  at  a 
beginning.  If  A  was  created  by  B,  who  created  B  ? 
D,  who  created  D  ?  E,  who  created  E?  -and  thus  we 
may  proceed  inimitably.  But  every  scries  includes  ta- 
citfy  the  admission  of  a  beginning  :  hence  we  must  even- 
•  tually  arrest  our  progression,  and  admit  the  conclusion  of 
the  Encyclopedia,  that  there  must  be  a*  self-existent  be- 


Paley's  Natural  Theology  says,  "neither  the  universe 
nor  any  part  of  it  which  we'  cansee,  can  be  the  Deity." 
Why?  fortheqnly  reason  that  can  be  given  in  any  argu- 
ment: —  the  premises  affirm  the  conclusion.  But  every 
person  may  not  see  that  the  premises  affirm  the  conclu- 
sion, hence  the  writer  adduces  proofs:  that  is,  he  'teach- 
es us  how  we  may  discover  that  the  premises  admit  his 
conclusion.  He  says,  "  the  universe  is  merely  a  collec- 
tive name,  its  purls  are  all  which  are  real.  Now  inert 
matter  cannot  be  the  Deity,  nor  can  organized  substances, 


116  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN   KNOWLEDGE  }       [LeC.  6« 

for  they  include  marks  of  contrivance;  and  whatever  in- 
cludes marks  of  contrivance,  carries  us  to  something  be- 
yond itself,  to  a  contriver  who  is  prior  to  the  thing  con- 
trived, and  different  fVom  it."  , 

But  why  cannot  the  inert  parts  of  the  universe  be  the 
Deity  ?  Because  the  term. inert  negatives  such  a  conclu- 
sion. But  the  organized  parts  also  cannot.  No.  Because 
the  word  organized  admits  that  it  is  the  production  of  an 
organizer;  but  Deity  is  implicitly  self-existent. 

"  No  animal,"  continues  the  same  writer,  "  can  have 
contrived  its  own  limbs  and  senses."  Why  ?  Because  there 
attaches  to  the  premises  an  implication,  that  an  animal 
cannot  exist  till  its  limbs  and  senses  have  been  contrived. 

"Nothing,"  he  adds,  "can  be  God  which  is  ordered 
by  a  wisdom  and  a  will  superior  to  ils  own  ;  arid  nothing 
can  be  God  which  is  indebted  for  any  of  its  properties  to 
a  contrivance  beyond  itself." 

Why  f  For  ono  reason  only ;  the  word  God  excludes  from 
its  signification  these  consequences.  Lest  we  might  not 
know  this,  and  hence  not  assent  to  his  conclusions,  Mr. 
Paley  furnishes  the  word  with  a  definition  :  thus,  he  says, 
"  having  in  its  nature  what  requires  the  exertion  of  no 
prior  being,  appertains  to  the  Deity  as  an  essential  distinc- 
tion, and  removes  his  nature  from  that  of  all  other  be- 
ings." 

He  says  further  :  "  since  something  must  have  existed 
from  eternity,  it  is  frequently  asked,  why  the  universe 
may  not  be  that  something."  He  answers,  "the  contri- 
vance perceived  in  it  proves  that  to  be  impossible,  for  the 
contriver  must  have  existed  before  the  contrivance." 
Why  ?  Because  the  word  contrivance  implies  such  a  con- 
clusion:— there  is  no  other  reason,  lint  why  must  some- 
thing have  existed  from  eternity  f  Because,  to  say  that  any 


6.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE. 

thing  is  produced,  admits  a  producer ;  to  say  that  any 
thing  id  made,  admits  a  maker ;  to  say  that  any  thing  ex- 
ists, admits  a  cause :  hence,  how  ancient  soever  the  uni- 
verse may  be,  something  must  have  preceded  it ;  some- 
thing must  have  existed  from  eternity. 

That  the  earth  must  be  globular,  is  a  conclusion  which 
also  language  forces  us  to  adopt.  In  a  plane,  we  tacitly 
admit  there  must  be  some  place  where  the  plane  termi- 
nates, where  we  may  step  or  fall  off.  But  we  discover  no 
such  on  the  earth,  hence  the  earth  is  not  a  plane.  What 
shape-  then  must  the  earth  possess?  Globular.  *Why  ? 
Because,  to  say  that  there  is  no  precipitous  termination, 
implies  globosity.  From  a  like  necessity  there  are  anti- 
podes, and  all  the  other  wonders  inculcated  by  astronomy. 

In  Gills'  Body  of  Divinity,  the  author  says,  "  though 
angels  have  no  bodies,  yet,  as  they  are  creatures,  they 
must  exist  somewhere."  Why  ?  Because  the  consequence 
is  included  in  the  meaning  which  he  attaches  to  the  premi- 
ses, that  angels  are  creatures.  He  proceeds  to  ask  where 
they  could  exist  before  the  heavens  and  the  earth  were 
made,  and  concludes  that  they  could  exist  no  where. 
Why  ?  Because  the  somewhere  which  he  deems  neces- 
sary, is  included  cither  in  heaven  or  earth.  The  object 
of  the  author  is  to  prove  that  angels  were  made  subse- 
quently to  the  heavens  :  a  conclusion  which  is  but  an  ite- 
ration of  his  previous  admissions. 

I  will  proceed  to  show  that  similar  admissions  govern 
our  assent  to  mathematical  propositions.  For  this  object, 
I  shall  examine  one  of  the  theorems  in  the  first  book  of 
Euclid's  Elements.  I  had  prepared  an  examination  of 
all  the  theorems  in  the  first  and  second  books  of  Euclid, 
but  it  formed  too  large  a  body  of  what,  to  most  persons, 
would  be  uninteresting  matter. 


118  THE  PHILOSOPHY  Of  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LeC. 


PROPOSITION  IV.— Theorem  1st. 

Let  ABC,  DEF  be  two  triangles  which  have  the  two 
sides  AB,  AC?  equal  to  the  two  sides  DE,  DF,  each  to 
each  ;  viz.  AB  to  DE,  and  AC  to  DF  ;  and  the  angle  BAC, 
equal  to  the  angle  EDF :  the  base  BC  shall  be  equal  to 
the  base  EF. 


B 


That  the  base  BC  is  equal  to  the  base  EF,  is  evidently 
admitted  by  the  premises,  which  affirm  that  the  angle 
BAC  is  equal  to  the  angle  EDF.  But  let  us  now  exam- 
ine if  the  proof  adduced  by  Euclid  changes  the  charac- 
ter of  the  process.  He  says,  if  the  triangle  ABC  be  ap- 
plied to  DEF,  so 'that  the  point  A  may  be  on  D,  and  the 
straight  line  AB  upon  DE;  the  point  B,  shall  coincide 
with  the  point  E.  I  would  ask  why?  Because,  says  Eu- 
clid, AB  is  admitted  to  be  equal  to  DE.  The  proof  then, 
thus  far,  is  avowedly  an  admission  of  the  premises. 

The  process  is  continued :  thus,  AB,  coinciding 
with  DE,  AC  shall  coincide  with  DF.  Why  ?  Be- 
cause, says  the  demonstration,  the  angle  BAC  is  ad- 
mitted to"  be  equal  to  the  angle  EDF  ;  but  why  does  this 
prove  that  AC  must  coincide  with  DF  ?  It  will  not 
prove  it  to  those  who  do  not  discover  that  the  coincidence 


.  6.]  bg,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  H9 

is  included  in  the  admitted  equality  of  the  two  angles.  Our 
assent  is  governed  by  this  discovery  alone. 

A  process,  similar  to  what  we  have  already  investi- 
gated, is  repeated  to  show  that  the  point  C  must  coincide 
with  the  point  F  ;  wherefore,  says  the  demonstration,  as 
the  point  B  also  coincides  with  the  point  E,  the  base  BC 
shall  coincide  with  the  base  EF.  Why  ?  Because,  says 
Euclid,  if  the  base  BC  does  not  coincide  with  the  base 
EF,  two  straight  lines  would  inclose  a  space.  And  how 
do  you  prove  that  two  straight  lines  cannot  inclose  a 
space  ?  By  an  admission  in  the  tenth  axiom  that  they 
cannot.  Two  straight  lines,  says  the  axiom;  cannot  en- 
close a  space. 

In  this  theorem,  then,  the  proofs  arc  effected  by  show- 
ing, that  the  points  in  debate  are  admitted  either  by  the 
premises  of  the  proposition,  or  by  axioms,  &c.  I  know 
that  I  have  operated  on  a  theorem  which  is  more  easily 
analyzed  than  any  other  in  Euclid,  because  the  subse- 
quent theorems  are  demonstrated  by  preceding  ones: 
still  the  same  principle  will  be  found  in  all. 

I  have  now  shown,  that  we  assent  to  a  proposition 
when  we  discover  that  the  premises  affirm  the  conclusion  ; 
and  that  proofs  and  arguments  have  no  effect,  but  to 
show  us  that  such  an  affirmation  exists.  I  have  investi- 
gated this  subject  far  too  cursorily,  but  I  will  leave  it,  and 
proceed  to  show  why  certain  premises  affirm  certain  con- 
clusions :  for  instance,  why  the  word  half  implies  that  it 
is  less  than  the  whole.  Perhaps  you  will  say,  that  the 
meaning  of  the  word  half  admits  that  it  is  less  than  the 
whole;  but  I  ask  how  it  acquires  this  meaning  ?  If  you 
say,  that  common  consent  concurs  in  attaching  this  signi- 
fication to  the  word,  I  ask  liow  common  consent  came  to 


120  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN   KNOWLEDGE  ;  [LeC.  6. 

this  resolution  ?  Finally,  is  it  an  arbitrary  conclusion, 
forced  on  us  by  the  framcrs  of  language,  that  a  half  is 
less  than  a  whole  ;  or  does  it  depend  on  some  principle 
which  is  superior  to  any  such  dictation  ?  The  answer  to 
this  question  will  constitute  the  subject  of  my  next  lee* 
ture. 


I 'tit.  7.J  OR,    A    TREATIVK    ON    LAMeVAOK. 


USCTURl:    VII. 


THERE  ia  a  region  called  the  valley  of  imagination  that 
I  occasionally  visit,  for  the  eccentric  adventures  with 
which  it  abounds.  In  a  recent  excursion  thither,  I  noted 
a  young  woman,  who  was  fleeing,  as  for  her  life.  Her 
speed  was  impeded  by  an  infant,  which  she  held  with 
some  tenderness,  while  her  face  was  suffused  with  tears. 
The  object  from  which  she  fled  was  a  monster,  whose 
body  was  luminous  and  deformed.  He  seemed  confident 
of  his  victim,  and  pursued  her  with  increasing  ardour. 
She  arrived  at  a  river,  and  turning  to  ascertain  the  prox- 
imity of  her  pursuer,  plunged  the  infant  in  the  stream,  in 
the  apparent  hope,  when  unincumbered,  of  avoiding  her 
enemy. 

Whether  she  succeeded  in  her  retreat  I  did  not  disco- 
ver, for  my  attention  was  arrested  by  two  young  men, 
who  were  preparing  to  encounter  each  other  in  mortal 
combat.  I  could  perceive  that  both  would  gladly  have 

16 


122  THE     PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;     [LeC.  7. 

suspended  tlieir  intent  r  but  no  sooner  did  a  relenting 
thought  occur  to  either,  than  the  monster  whom  I  lately 
«juv,  appeared  again,  ahd  with  threatening  gestures 
frightened  the  youth  from  his  pacific  contemplations. 

I  became  anxious  to  know  who  this  potent  being  is  wha 
can  urge  a  mother,  to  immolate  her  recent  infant,  and  ter- 
rify two  gallurit  youths  to  the  sacrifice  of  life.  I  therefore 
besought  one,  who  was  loitering  like  myself,  to  yield  me 
the  information.  The  monster  whom  you  saw  first,  he 
replied,  is  SHAME  ;  the  second  is  an  impostor,  who  bears 
the  name  only  of  the  former.  True  shame  is  the  offspring 
of  crime;  but  false  shame  is  the  descendant  of  folly.  The 
first  is  justly  feared,  for  whoever  falls  within  liis  power 
he  impresses  with  a  mark  which  burns  more  intensely  than 
cautery,  and  more  durably  than  life.  The  second  also 
affixes  his  mark  on  those  whom  he  overtakes,  but.  though 
it  pains  for  a  period,  it  eventually  assuages,  and  the  sub- 
ject of  his  malice  learns  to  contemn  the  monster,  and  his 
impotent  assaults. 

This  allegory  has  not  much  bearing  on  our  subject ; 
but  I  suspect  these  lectures  would  long  since  have  yielded 
to  the  distractions  of  business,  and  the  absence  of  extrin- 
sic impulse,  did  not  the  fear  of  one  of  these  monsters  de- 
ter rne  from  abandoning  a  labour  publicly  undertaken. 
The  motive  for  perseverance  is  therefore  not  very  allur- 
ing, but,  as  it  is,  proceed  we  with  our  discussions. 

Why  cannot  the  same  thing  both  be  and  not  be  ?  Be- 
cause the  proposition  contains  two  assertions  which  nega- 
tive each  other.  How  came  the  propositions  by  meanings 
so  opposite?  By  the  consent  of  mankind.  But  what 
united  on  this  proposition  the  consent  of  mankind  ?  We 


7.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANCUAC*.  123 

may  proceed  thus  in  an  endless  train  of  trifling  assertions, 
without  arriving  at  any  satisfactory  result.  You  will, 
however,  remember  that  I  promised  to  show  in  this  Lec- 
ture the  reasons  which  compel  us  to  yield  our  assent  to 
propositions  like  the  above.  I  now  proceed  to  the  under- 
taking. 

The  necessity  for  our  assent  to  such  propositions  is 
founded  on  the  phenomena  to  which  the  propositions  re- 
fer :  thus,  I  can  show  you  a  knife,  and  tell  you  that  the 
knife  is  visible.  I  can  remove  the  knife,  and  tell  you 
that  it  is  invis&lc.  But  why  cannot  the  knife  be  both  vi- 
sible and  invisible  at  the  same  time?  Try  if  you  ca*i  ef- 
fect such  a  coincidence,  and  you  will  discover  why.  The 
impossibility  is  precisely  what  you  will  experience,  nor 
has  it  any  other  meaning. 

Why  cannot  the  same  spot  be,  at  the  same  time,  both 
white  and  black  ?  Because  the  word  white  implies  that 
the  spot  is  not  black.  But  how  came  white  by  this  im- 
plication ?  Was  it  arbitrarily  imposed  by  the  framers  of 
our  language  ?  No.  They  called  one  sight  white  and 
another  black,  merely  to  name  what  thoy  saw.  The 
proposition  is  a  result  -of  experience.  If  I  assert  that 
the  same  spot  cannot  be  both  white  and  hard,  the  pro- 
position will  i>e  untrue.  Why .?  Because  my  senses 
can  discover  such  a  coincidence.  There  is  no  other 
reason. 

All  the  axioms  of  geometry  depend  fur  their  authority 
on  similar  principles. .  Why  fire  things  which  are  equal 
to  the  same,  equal  to  one  another  f  Because,  says  Mr. 
Campbell,  tlio  two  expressions  ar.e  equivalent  to  each 
other.  But  what  makes  them  equivalent  f  The  latter 
pait  of  the  phrase  being  a  definition  only  of  the-  former. 


114  TBE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWI.BDOB  J      [LeC.  7. 

This  does  not  satisfy  me,  and  I  ask  further,  What  makes 
the  latter  part  a  definition  of  the  former  ?  We  may  con- 
tinue such  questions  interminably.  The  axiom  means  no- 
thing but  a  reference  to  phenomena  ;  and  when  we  recur 
to  phenomena  we  shall  find  a  satisfactory  reason  for  the 
assent  which  the  axiom  commands.  Look,  1  can  saf,  at 
these  sticks.  Those  which  are  marked  A  and  B  are  se- 
verally equal  in  height  to  the  stick  C.  Why  now  must 
A  and  B  be  equal  in  heighc  to  each  other  ?  Endeavour 
to  produce  a  different  result,  and  you  will  discover  that 
the  equality  is  unavoidable.  The  necessity  is  not  verbal, 
nor  logical,  nor  dependent  on  common  consent.  It  is 
precisely  what  you  will  discover  by  the  experiment,  nor 
has  the  necessity  any  other  archetype  in  nature. 

We  experience  so"  frequently  the  phenomena  to  which 
the  axiom  refers,  that  we  think  a  knowledge  that  A  and 
B  are  severally  equal  in  height  to  C,  would,  independent- 
ly of  any  experience,  enable  us  to  deduce  that  A  and  B 
are  equal  in  height  to  each  other.  It  is  experience  alone, 
however,  which  enables  us  to  discover  that  such  a  conse- 
quence can  be  deduced  from  the  equality  of  A  and  B  with 
C.  Independently  of  experience,  we  should  no  more 
know  that  A  and  B  must  produce  the  sight  and  feel  that 
we  call  equal  height,  than  that  they  must. smell  or  taste 
alike. 

The  word  contrivance  forces  us  to  acknowledge  a  con- 
triver. Why  ?  Because  contrivance  contains  an  admis- 
sion that  it  is  the  effort  of  some  person  whom  we  thence 
call  a  contriver.  Yet  how  came  the  word  contrivance  to 
include  such  an  ndmLscioii  ?  Is  it  an  arbitrary  fiat  of  those 
who  framed  the  word  r  No:  the  admission  proceeds 


7.]        OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  125 

from  our  intercourse  with  phenomena — thus,  I  can  tell 
you  that  I  am  completing  a  contrivance  which  will  catch 
birds.  What  is  the  contrivance  ?  A  trap — Behold  it ! 
Do  you  a*k  why  this  contrivance  implies  a  contriver? 
Try  to  produce  such  a  contrivance,  without  exerting  some 
agency,  and  you  will  discover  why  a  contrivance  is  neces- 
sary. The  necessity  is  precisely  what  you  will  experience. 

Again :  to  assert  that  any  thing  exists,  admits  that 
there  was  a  period  when  the  object  commenced  existing. 
Why  ?  Because  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  an  existence  which 
never  had  a  commencement.  Yet  why  is  such  a  suppo- 
sition absurd  ?  We  may  proceed  interminably  with  such 
questions,  unless  we  appeal  from  words  to  the  phenomena 
which  the  words  signify :  when  we  shall  easily  discover 
the  necessity  that  impels  us  to  admit  a  commencement. 
What  is  an  existence  ?  This  house  is  an  existence.  What 
is  a  beginning,  when  applied  to  the  house  ?  That  which  I 
can  show  you  where  men  are  building.  Why  then  does 
this  existence  imply  a  beginning  ?  Because  the  opera- 
tions which  I  have  exhibited  to  you  must  precede  the 
house.  Why  must  they  ?  Attempt  to  build  a  house  without 
them,  and  you  will  discover.  There  is  no  other  reason. 

I  can  say  that  time  which  is  not  present,  must  be  either 
future  or  past.  Why  must  it  ?  Because  time  is  divided 
into  present,  past,  and  future.  A  negation  of  the  present 
implies,  therefore,  that  the  remainder  is  either  future  or 
past.  But  whence  arises  this  implication  ?  We  may, 
without  end  and  without  instruction,  proceed  in  such  in- 
quiries ;  but  if  we  resort  to  the  phenomena  to  which  the 
words  allude,  we  .shall  soon  discover  why  time  that  is  not 
present  must  be  either  past  or  future.  Thus  :  if  the  table 


126  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;         [LeC.  7. 

at  which  I  am  standing  is  not  now  touched  by  me,  I  have 
either  touched  it  already,  or  shall  touch  it  hereafter ;  or 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  assert  with  truth  that  I  have 
touched  (the  table.  Why  ?  Make  the  experiment,  and 
you,  will  discover.  When  you  have  found  that  your  efforts 
cannot  controvert  my  position,  you  may  be  told  that  the 
phenomena  thus  experienced  are  one  meaning  of  the  as- 
sertion, that  time  which  is  not  present,  is  cither  past 
or  future. 

It  is  impossible  that  ice  should  be  hot.  Why  ?  Be- 
cause the  name  implies  that  it  is  not  hot.  But  how  came 
it  by  this  implication  ?  From  experience  only.  The  im- 
possibility alludes  to  what  you  can  discover  if  you  attempt 
to  heat  ice :  apart  therefrom  there  is  no  i  in  compatibility 
in  the  case. 

Things. which  are  double  of  the  same  are  equal  to  one 
another.  Why  f  Because,  to  admit  that  A  and  B  are 
severally  double  of  C,  is  to  admit  that  A  is  equal  to  B. 
But  why  ?  Because  the  words  imply  the  equality.  Yet 
whence  the  implication  ?  There  is  no  end  of  such  debate. 
The  necessity  admits  a  final  explication  through  our 
senses  only.  Endeavour  to  make  both  A  and  B  double 
the  length  of  C,  without  making  A  as  long  as  B.  You 
will  then  discover  why  A  must  be  as  long  as  B.  The 
necessity  is  precisely  what  you  will  experience. 
/  Again  :  the  whole  is  greater  than  a  part.  Why  ?  The 
word  whole  implies  that  it  is  greater.  How  came  it  by 
such  an  implication  ?  After  we  have  bandied,  questions 
ami  answers  till  we  are  disgusted  with  trifling,  we  may 
appeal  lo  phenomena,  and  discover  readily  why  the  whole 
is  greater.  Why  then  must  the  whole  of  an  orange  be 


LeC.  7.]         OR,  A.  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  127 

greater  than  a  part  ?     Endeavour  to  prevent  it,  and  you 
will  discover. 

But  can  I  not  apply,  the  axiom  where  there  is  no  disco- 
verable existence  ? — can  1  not  say,  that  the  whole  of  an 
invisible  atom  is  greater  than  a  part  ?  You  can  ;  and 
this  forms  one  of  the  most  subtle  and  common  delusions 
to  which  language  subjects  us.  The  consideration  of  it 
will  constitute  our  next  lecture.  The  present  discourse 
shows,  that  the  only  reason  which  compels  us  to  admit 
certain  conclusions  is,  that  experience  teaches  us  that  the 
conclusions  are  unavoidable.  For  instance/  we  admit 
that  a  part  of  an  orange  is  less  than  the  whole  ;  because 
we  find  from  experience  that  the  result  is  inevitable.  In 
my  next  lecture  I  shall  show  that  the  proposition  is 
wrested  from  the  orange,  and  other  sensible  objects,  and 
applied  to  invisible  atoms,  &c.  where  the  necessity  exists 
in  the  forms  of  language  only.  This  application  is  the 
basis  of  nearly  every  metaphysical  speculation.  It  is  the 
magician's  wand  which  transports  us  from  a  world  of  grave 
realities,  into  regions  where  even  our  solid  and  firm- 
fixed  earth  revolves  in  a  giddy  velocity  of  many  hundred 
miles  during  every  instant  .of  time  ;  where  the  wretched 
inhabitants  bear  severally  fourteen  tons  of  atmospheric 
pressure  ;  where  there  are  antipodes,  whose  heads  are 
diametrically  opposite  to  those  of  other  men  ;  and  where 
the  smallest  grain  of  sand  may  be  divided  interminably  ; 
becoming  less  for  ever,  without  extinction.  The  differ- 
ence you  perceive  is  important,  between  propositions 
which  experience  forces  us  to  assent  to,  and  propositions 
which  the  forms  of  language  compel  us  to  admit.  The 
first  surprise  us  with  no  chimeras  or  gorgons  dire. — 


118  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;     [LcC.  7. 

Every  result  is  precisely  what  coincides  with  our  daily 
occupations.  It  furnishes  us  with  a  stable  earth,  with 
an  erect  and  congenial  position  for  our  heads,  and  with 
an  agreeable  levity  of  atmosphere.  In  the  midst  of 
these  comforts  we  will  end  the  present  lecture. 


8.]  OR,  A  TRlATIiS  OH  LANGUAGE. 


-       - 


LJBCTITRE    VIII. 


IN  my  last  lecture,  I  showed  that  when  we  say  the  whole 
of  an  orange  is  greater  than  a  part,  the  position  is  ad- 
mitted ;  because  experience  has  taught  us  that  the  con- 
clusion is  inevitable.  The  same  principle  governs  our  as- 
sent when  we  say  that  every  design  implies  a  designer, 
and  every  creation  implies  a  creator. 

I  said  further,  that  we  do  not  restrict  to  oranges,  &c. 
the  assertion  that  the  whole  is  greater  than  a  part ;  but 
we  apply  it  where  confessedly  the  words  refer  to  no  sen- 
sible existence.  I  characterized  this  as  one  of  the  most 
subtje  delusions  to  which  language  exposes  us.  The  de- 
tection of  this  delusion  is  to  constitute  the  present  lec- 
ture. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  created  ?  It  is  a  name  applied 
to  certain  phenomena.  Any  of  my  senses  will  teach  me 

17 


ISO  THE   PHILOSOPHY    Of   HUMAN   KNOWLEDGE   ;         [LeC.   6. 

a  signification  of  the  word.  I  can  see  a  brick-maker  cre- 
ate bricks.  I  can  hear  sounds  created.  You  can  tell  me 
to  place  a  piece  of  sugar  in  rny  mouth,  and  it  will  create  a 
taste ;  or  to  press  my  hand  against  a  needle,  and  it  will 
create  pain.  Each  of  these  processes  furnishes  a  meaning 
of  the  word  created. 

But  what  do  I  mean  by  applying  the  word  created  to  the 
sun  .?  When  I  apply  it  to  bricks,  I  refer  to  the  process  by 
which  I  have  seen  bricks  produced  ;  but,  when  I  apply  it 
to  the  sun,  I  refer  to  nothing  but  the  sun  itself.  The 
bricks  are  one  phenomenon,  and  the  word  created  refers 
to  another,  which  is  different  from  the  bricks,  though 
equally  sensible  :  but  when  created  is  .applied  to  the  sun, 
there  is  only  one  phenomenon*. 

But  do  I  not  see  that  the  sun  exists,  and  must  not  every 
existence  have  been  created  ?  Here  again  the  necessity 
is  verbal,  and  language  is  a  contrivance  of  men,  and  re- 
lates to  their  operations  only.  Why  must  every  brick 
have  been  created  ?  Try  to  cause  the  existence  of  a 
brick,  and  you  will  discover.  The  necessity  of  a  creation 
is  precisely  what  we  shall  experience,  when  we  attempt  to 
produce  a  brick  without  some  creative  process ;  but  when 
we  apply  the  same  language  to  the  sun,  the  necessity  is 
merely  verbal.  It  refers  to  nothing,  and  signifies  nc- 
thing. 

Still,  do  we  not  discover  that  a  brick  must  be  created 
ere  it  can  'exist ;  that  a  boat,  house,  or  basket,  cannot 
exist  without  a  previous  creation  ;  and  shall  we  suppose 

*  Unless  I  refer  to  the  declarations  of  revelation.  Created  has 
then  a  signification  which  is  independent  of  the  appearance  of  the 
•  un.  This  remark  must  be  remembered  in  every  similar  case. 


LeO.  8.]         OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  181 

that  the  sun  can  exist  without  a  previous  creation  t  I 
answer,  that  the  word  created  is  merely  a  name  invented 
by  men  to  refer  to  some  of  their  operations  and  actions  : 
when  thus  used,  created  is  significant,  but  when  we  apply 
it  to  the  sun,  where  there  is  no  phenomenon  to  which  the 
word  refers,  it  returns  to  the  original  signification  it  pos- 
sessed before  men  applied  it  to  the  purposes  of  language  : 
that  is,  it  becomes  an  unmeaning  sound. 

To  persons  who  have  never  esteemed  language  as  a 
collection  of  mere  sounds  employed  to  designate  men's 
operations  and  experience,  I  am  aware  that  this  doctrine 
must  be  abstruse.  That  nothing  can  exist  without  a  pre- 
vious creation,  is,  besides,  a  proposition  which  applies  sig- 
nificantly to  so  many  objects,  that  there  is  but  little  won- 
der it  should  be  deemed  universally  applicable.  The  house- 
wife who  applies  the  proposition  to  her  bread,  means  that 
the  loaf  would  not  have  existed  if  she  had  not  wet  the 
flour,  and  kneeded  the  dough.  The  miller  who  applies  it 
to  the  flour,  means  that  the  flour  would  not  have  existed 
if  he  had  not  subjected  the  wheat  to  the  operations  of  his 
mill  ;  and  the  husbandman  who  applies  it  to  the  wheat, 
refers  to  his  tilling  and  seeding  the  earth,  and  to  the  va- 
rious phenomena  from  seed  time  to  harvest.  Suppose, 
however,  we  say,  that  the  earth  could  not  have  existed 
without  a  previous  creation  ;  we  allude  to  no  phenomenon 
but  the  earth  itself.  When  we  think  that  we  allude  fur- 
ther, we  mean  merely  that  bread  cannot  exist  without  a 
previous  creation  ;  that  flour,  wheat,  bricks,  &c.  cannot 
exist  without  a  previous  creation. 

But  are  we  not  sure,  that  there  was  a  period  when  the 
existence  of  the  sun  commenced?  This  question  is  pre- 


132  TUB  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;         [LeC.   8. 

cisely  like  the  former.  If  I  say  that  there  must  have  been 
a  period  when  every  brick  commenced  its  existence,  you 
may  ask  what  I  mean.  I  shall  again  show  you  the  ope- 
rations of  a  brick-maker,  and  designate  what  I  mean. 
But  why  must  the  existence  of  every  brick  have  a  com- 
mencement ?  Try  to  produce  a  brick  without,  and  you  will 
discover.  The  necessity  is  precisely  what  you  will  expe- 
rience. That  a  house,  ship,  tree,  or  an  animal  must  have 
a  commencement,  refers  to  some  phenomenon ;  but  when 
the  word  is  applied  to  the  sun,  it  confessedly  refers  to  no 
phenomenon,  and  is  therefore  a  sound  divested  of  signifi- 
cation. 

If  ail  tactile  objects  possessed  a  sweet  taste,  we  should 
consider  sweetness  essential  to  the  sun,  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  we  consider  a  commencement  essential.  We  even 
now  attribute  to  the  sun  temperature,  gravity,  density, 
and  every  other  property  that  is  constantly  associated  with 
the  bodies  which  we  can  handle. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  whether  I  mean  to  assert  that 
the  sun's  existence  never  had  a  commencement  ?  No.  I 
mean  only,  that  commenced  has  no  signification  but  as  a 
name  of  some  phenomenon  ;  and  when  applied  to  the  sun, 
there  is  no  phenomenon  to  which  the  word  refers  :  hence 
it  is  used  insignificantly.  We  should  err  equally,  if  we 
were  to  assert  that  the  sun  never  had  a  commencement ; 
for  we  must  remembert  hat  the  meaning  of  a  word  is  go- 
verned by  the  phenomenon  to  which  the  word  refers.  To 
apply  the  word  bitter  to  the  sun  will  not  affect  the  sun! 
but  it  will. affect  the  word. — It  will  render  the  word  insig- 
nificant. The  same  principle  applies  to  commencement, 
and  every  other  word. 


LeC.  8.]  OB,    A    TREATISE    Off    LANGUAGE.  133 

Natural  Theology  assumes  credit  for  the  discovery 
that  there  must  be  a  self-existent  being.  Why  must  there  f 
Because,  says  natural  theology,  if  every  existence  is 
created  by  another,  we  can  never  arrive  at  a  commence- 
ment. But  there  is  as  much  difficulty  in  conceiving  a  be- 
ing who  is  self-existent,  as  in  conceiving  a  succession  of  ex- 
istences without  a  commencement.  This  difficulty  natural 
theology  cannot  avoid.  Language  allows  no  alternative 
but  to  choose  between  the  two  equally  inconceivable  pro- 
positions ; — a  being  without  a  creator,  or  a  succession  of 
creators  without  a  beginning.  The  dilemma  ought  to 
teach  us  that  we  are  using  language  insignificantly  ;  that 
words  are  invented  to  designate  sensible  phenomena,  and 
when  they  refer  not  to  these,  they  again  become  sounds 
which  signify  nothing. 

Even  the  necessity  which  impels  us  to  require  a  creator 
in  the  production  of  objects,  shows  that  the  word  is  sim- 
ply a  name  of  the  operations  that  fall  under  our  observa- 
tion. If  you  ask  me  why  it  is  necessary  that  bricks  should 
have  a  creator,  I  answer,  try  to  produce  a  brick  and  you 
will  discover.  The  necessity  of  a  creator  will  be  not  ver- 
bal merely,  but  what  you  will  experience.  But  when  you 
ask  me  why  the  sun  must  have  a  creator,  I  cannot,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  brick,  tell  you  to  produce  a  sun,  and  thus 
discover  the  necessity  ;  nor  can  I  refer  you  to  any  pheno- 
menon ;  I  can  only  appeal  to  the  forms  of  language — forms 
which  refer  to  sensible  phenomena,  arid  which  have  no 
signification  where  corresponding  phenomena  are  not  dis- 
coverable. The  ability  to  predicate  a  creator  in  infinitum, 
is  as  complete  as  to  predicate  it  of  the  sun  ;  and  we  have 
eventually  to  abandon  the  process,  and  admit  that  we 
have  arrived  where  the  process  is  no  longer  applicable. 


134  THE    PHLOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;  [t*C.  9* 

This  atone  ought  to  teach  us  that  the  whole  process  is  in- 
significant, where  it  refers  to  no  sensible  archetype.  It 
is  like  the  ability  to  predicate  a  division  of  matter  in  infini- 
tum.  Both  processes  proceed  on  the  same  principle,  and 
both  are  equally  fallacious. 

I  am  aware  that  this  doctrine  is  so  novel,  that  I  may 
be  accused  of  saying  that  the  sun  had  no  creator.  I  hold, 
however,  that  such  an  assertion  is  no  more  significant 
than  its  converse.  Language  is  impertinent  to  the  whole 
subject.  The  phenomena  to  which  words  refer  give  them 
significaricy ;  and  when  we  employ  a  phrase  without  re- 
ferring to  any  phenomenon,  the  words  are  divested  of  sig- 
nification. That  the  sun  was  created  is  highly  significant, 
when  we  refer  to  the  declarations  of  scripture  ;  but  when 
we  refer  to  nothing,  our  assertion  signifies  nothing.  *i*  • 

The  deity  of  Natural  Theology  is  further  established 
by  the  same  process  differently  applied  :  thus,  matter  can- 
not begin  to  move  of  itself.  There  must  then  be  a  mover. 
The  conclusion  is  unavoidable,  and  this  alone  may  teach 
us  that  the  words  relate  to  our  actions  and  experience. 
Why  is  a  mover  necessary  to  give  motion  to  my  pen  ; 
Try  and  you  will  discover.  You  will  find  a  perfect 
quiescence  till  your  hand,  the  wind,  or  some  other 
agent  moves  it.  The  necessity  is  not  in  the  nature 
of  the  words,  but  in  the  phenomena  to  which  the  words 
refer.  Besides,  we  have  another  proof  that  the  position 
is  insignificant  when  it  does  not  refer  to  sensible  pheno- 
mena ;  we  must  either  proceed  inimitably  to  predicate  a 
mover,  or  eventually  abandon  the  necessity,  and  admit 
that  something  does  move  without  a  mover  :  thus,  what 
makes  my  pen  move  ?  My  hand.  What  makes  my  hand 
move  ?  A.  What  makes  A  move  ?  B.  What  makes 


Leo.  8.]          OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  135 

B  move  ? — and  so  in  infinitum.  There  is  the  same  ne- 
cessity that  the  last  shall  have  A  mover  as  the  first.  This, 
however,  leads  to  an  absurdity.  But  we  do  not  adopt 
the  obvious  conclusion,  that  we  are  using  language  apart 
from  sensible  phenomena,  and  .therefore  insignificantly  ; 
but  we  adopt  the  incongruity,  that  at  length  something 
moves  without  a  mover* 

Further,  the  proposition  says,  "  that  matter  cannot 
begin  to  move  of  itself."  Hence  natural  theology  proves, 
that  there  is  an  immaterial  existence :  thus,  I  include 
under  the  word  matter  every  part  which  you  can  feel, 
see,  taste,  smell  and  hear  of  a  horse.  None  of  them  can 
begin  to  move  of  itself.  There  is  then  something  in  the 
horse  beside  matter.  Why  ?  I  will  show  you.  The 
horse  is  now  slain.  There  remains  all  the  matter  of 
which  he  was  composed  when  alive,  yet  not  a  particle 
possesses  motion ;  hence,  when  the  horse  could  move, 
there  existed  in  him  something  besides  matter.  You 
may  now  cut  him  into  large  pieces  or  small,  they  will  be 
equally  incapable  of  motion. 

The  difficulty,  however,  exists  in  the  recital.  We  dis- 
cover that  a  dead  horse  is  incapable  of  motion.  We  dis- 
cover the  same  in  the  flesh,  bones,  blood,  and  other  parts 
that  may  be  detached  from  a  live  horse.  What  then?  It 
proves  the  existence  of  something  in  the  horse  beside 
flesh,  bones,  blood,  &c.  No,  this  is  our  hypothesis  only. 
The  phenomenon  proves  itself,  and  nothing  more  nor 
less.  Of  what  our  senses  discover,  we  can  refer  to  bj 
any  expressions  we  think  proper  ;  but  the  signification  of 
our  expressions  must  be  sought  in  the  phenomena.  We 
may  say,  that  matter  cannot  begin  motion,  provided  we 
mean  that  a  dead  horse  cannot  move;  or  the  flesh,  blood, 


186  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;  [LeC.  8* 

bones,  or  other  parts  that  may  be  separated  from  a  living 
horse;  or  provided  we  mean  any  other  phenomenon 
which  we  discover.  In  the  same  way,  we  may  contend 
that  there  must,  in  a  live  horse,  be  something  beside  mat- 
ter, provided  our  expression  refers  to  the  phenomena  ex- 
hibited by  life ;  but  the  moment  the  phrase  is  used  to  ex- 
press more  than  the  phenomena,  more  than  we  can  see, 
feel,  taste,  smell  and  hear,  our  words  become  insignifi- 
cant even  to  ourselves.  They  become  mere  sounds  and 
archetypes  of  nothing. 

Another  discovery  which  natural  theology  claims,  is 
that  there  must  be  a  being  infinitely  perfect.  The  proof 
is  this,  "  the  maker  of  any  thing  must  be  more  perfect 
than  the  thing  which  he  makes ;  hence  the  maker  of  all 
things,  must  be  infinitely  perfect." 

But  why  must  the  maker  be  more  perfect  than  the  be- 
ing which  he  makes  ?  Because  the  words  refer  to  our 
operations  and  experience.  The  watch  maker  must  be 
more  knowing  than  the  watch,  and  the  musical  instru- 
ment maker  more  knowing  than  his  instrument.  When 
thus  applied,  the  proposition  refers  to  sensible  phenome- 
na ;  but  when  we  use  it  without  such  a  reference,  the 
words  are  unmeaning,  and  may  be,  (as  in  all  similar  ca- 
ses,) predicated  in  infinitum  :  thus,  B,  the  maker  of  a 
watch  must  be  more  perfect  than  the  watch  ;  but  C,  the 
maker  of  B,  must  be  more  perfect  than  B ;  and  so  to  the 
end  of  the  alphabet,  without  arriving  at  the  infinitely 
perfect  being,  unless  we  arrest  the  process,  and  say  we 
have  reached  a  being  so  perfect  that  the  maker  of  it  is 
not  more  perfect.  This  incongruity  can  be  avoided  only 
by  another,  which  is  at  least  equal :  that  the  being  exists 
without  a  maker.  Consequences  so  incompatible,  ought 


fcfeC.  8.']  OR,    A*  TRKATIS*    Off    LANGUAGE.  .  197 

tc  teach  us  that  language  is  unfit  for  such  processes,  and 
that  we  must  trust  to  revelation  alone  for  every  thing  be* 
yottd  the  sensible  phenomena  with  which  Providence  has 
mercifully  surrounded  ua.  To  these  only,  words  refer  ;  nor 
can  the  wit  of  man  devise  a  word  which  shall  -  posses*,  a 
wider  reference^*^***, 

Since  £oiii eth ing  must  have  existed  from  eternity,  it  is 
frequently  asked,  says  Paley,  in  bis.  Natural  Theology, 
Why  the  universe  -may  not  be  that  something  .?  He  an- 
swers, the  contrivance  which  we  perceive,  in  the  universe, 
proves  that  k  must  have  been  preceded  by  a  contriver  ; 
and  henee  it  could  not  have  been  eternal.  But  why  does 
a  contrivance  imply  a  contriver  f  Because  both  words 
refer  to  our  operations,  in  which  only  the  implication  has 
any  sensible  signification.  I  would  ask,  (but  reverently,) 
whether  the  appearance  of  Deity  would  not  exhibit  a 
contrivance  as  evidently  as  the  appearance  of  the  uni- 
verse ?  If  it  would,  we  can  prove  that  even  Deity  could 
not  have  been  eternal :  for  a  contrivance  implies  a  pre- 
vious contriver.  Language  is  wholly  inadequate  to  such 
speculations  ;  they  are  even  impious.  The  heathen  make 
graven  images — we  make  verbal  ones  ;  and  the  heathen 
do  not  worship  more  ardently  the  work  of  their  hands,  than 
we  the  work  of  our  pens. 

But  why  must  something  have  existed  eternally  ?  Be- 
cause language  will  not  permit  the  assertion  that  any 
thing  is  produced  without  a  producer.  Hence,  how  re- 
mote soever  we  place  any  production,  the  producer  must 
fee  more  remote.  But  whence  this  property  of  language  ? 
From  the  reference  which  words  bear  to  men  and  their 
operations  :  and  nothing  can  more  explicitly  show  the 
nullity  of  separating  language  from  these  operations,  than 

18 


TUB 


tiie  necessity  wtitch  occurs  eveataaUy  of  abandoning  the 
procaos,  and  admitting  that  there  is  a  point  beyond  which 
it  is  inapplicable ;  either  that  there  is  something  wfcich 
has  no  producer,  or  that  there  was  a  period  which  had  a* 
anterior. 

That  something  must  have  existed  eternally,  may  aUo 
be  deduced  from  the  aneieat  maxim,  that  nothing  oan  be 
produced  out  of  nothing.  But  why  is  the  axiom  tr«e? 
Because  it  refers  to  our  operations.  Try  if  you  can  make 
a  pen  out  of  nothing,  a  brie k  out  of  nothing,  or  a  loaf  out 
of  nothing,  and  then  you  will  know  the  necessity  to  which, 
the  axiom  alludes.  The  necessity  does  not  arise  from  any 
decree  of  the  authors  of  language,  but  is  a  phenomenon 
which  will  be  revealed  to  you  by  the  above  experiments. 

With  the  above  axiom  the  ancients  maintained  that  the 
power  of  Deity  extends  no  further  than  the  arrangement 
of  pre-exist e nt  materials.  The  moderns  do  not  extend 
the  axiom  so  for.  We  arrive  where  we  say  the  axiom  is 
no  longer  applicable.  This,  however,  creates  embarrass* 
ment:  thus,  what  was  the  sun  made  out  off  say  A.  And 
what  was  A  made  of?  say  B.  And  what  was  B  made  out 
of?  We  may  proceed  thus  without  end.  But  there  must 
be  an  end.  There  must  be  a  first  material,  and  out  e/ 
what  was  that  made  ?  When  we  trace  a  beginning  to  a 
certain  extent,  we  can  stop,  and  say  God  has  no  beginning. 
When  we  trace  causes  to  a  certain  extent,  we  can  stop, 
and  say  God  is  uncreated ;  but  we  cannot  say.  that  the 
first  material  was  made  out  of  God ;  hence  we  deny  the 
maxims  of  the  ancients,  that  nothing  can  be  made  out  of 
nothing;  and  we  affirm  that  every  thing  is  made  out  of 
rtothlng.  ~v 

•  •  .    • 


0%    Ml   TWKATMB    O» 

disb**ieY»g  the  result  tHus  obtained,  ai 
»Mer  *o  dispense  with  »  first  materiel,  concluded 
that  Deity  himself  was  the  first  material  put  ef  which  al* 
things  We**  febri&ited.  This  he  thought  wa»  a  greet  ef- 
fort of  teason,  by  which  the  maxim,  TitAtJfy^  es:  ntAtfo,  We* 
rwcdncf led  with  the  creative  attribute  of  Deity. 

When  menv  find  that  language'  force*  them  to  adrrtit  ev- 
thdr  that  all  things  are1  mdkde-  out  of  nothing,  or  out  df 
God,  who  was  himself  neither  composed  of  any  material, 
nor  by  any  agent,  nor  at  any  period ;  we  may  pause,  and 
at  least  question-  whether  language  is  applicable  to  such 
speculations.  The  wisdom  of  the  world  may  well  be  ac- 
counted ««  foolishness  with  God."  By  accumulating  and 
arranging  words,  we  can  no  more  discover  what  "  ejpe 
hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard/'  than  we  can,  by  taking 
thought,  add  a  cubit  to  our  stature.  We  must  forever 
exclaim,  in  the  beautiful  and  appropriate  language  of  in- 
spiration,-such  knowledge  is  too  wonderful  for  me!  Canst 
thou  by  searching  find  out  God?  Canst  thou  find  oat  the 
Almighty  Unto  perfection ?  It  is  as  high  as  heaven,  what 
canst  thou  do  ?  Deeper  than  hell,  what  canst  thon  know  ? 

To- reconcile  the  free  agency  of  man  with  the  omnis- 
cience of  God,  has  also  been  a  desideratum  of -natural 
theology.  I  just  drank  some  water,  and  antecedently  1 
deliberated  whether  I  should  drink  water  or  cider.  But 
if  actions  are  known  to  God  before  their  inception,  it  was 
known  that  I  should  drink  water ;  hence,  though  I  was 
deliberating,  I  could  not  drink  cider,  or  the  foreknowledge 
•of  God  would  have  been  frustrated.  If,  however,  I  douM 
not  drink  the^ider,  I  was  not  a  free  agent.  But  the  di- 
lemma is  merely  verbal.  What  is  the  meaning  of  the 
term  free  agent .'  It  can  be  explained  by  some  sensible 


140  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN   KNOWLBOGB  ;  [L*C.  8. 


only.  You  may  tell  me  that  I  can  either 
drink  or  not  the  water  which  is  before  me.  To  teach  me 
•till  more  unequivocally ,  you  may  show  me  what  it  Is  <  tb 
be  not  a  free*  agent.  You  can  withhold  my  hands,  and 
tell  me  I  am  no  longer  free  to  drink.  Why  ?  Let  me 
try  to  drink  and  I  shall  discover.  Henoe  the  term  free 
agent  signifies  a  sensible  phenomenon  ;  and  if  you  apply 
the  term  to  what  is  not  sensible,  the  phrase  is  divested  of 
signification.  •••*+&*&*  <**#>:*•  >*«**•+&+•  -M4* 

'The  controverted  expressions  have  a  signification,  when 
they  are  used  in  sacred  writ ;  and  my  comments  on  then 
will  show  the  folly  of  attempting  to  comprehend  their  di- 
vine archetype.  The  Holy  Spirit  has  mercifully  condescend* 
ed  to  reveal  that  there  are  realities  to  which  our  know- 
ledge has  no  affinity.  This  is  effected  by  employing  lan- 
gu&ge  in  a  way  that  is  irreconcileable  with  the  phenomena 
to  which  we  are  surrounded  ;  nor  can  I  conceive  that  any 
other  .use  of  language  would  accomplish  the  object. 

But  you  may  contend  that  my  system  is  subversive  net 
only  of  natural  theology,  but  of  every  other.  If  I  thought 
this,  or  that  it  would  disturb  the  faith  in  revelation  of  a 
single  being,  I  would  never  publish  these  suggestions. 
Fully  aiid  gratefully  impressed  with  the  paramount  au- 
thority of  the  holy  scriptures,  I  admit  that  no  repugnant 
doctrine  can  be  true.  I  intend  to  say^iothing  but  what 
will  display  the  importance  of  revelation,  and  show  infi- 
dels that  their  deity  is  a  creation  of  their  own ;  the  result 
of  propositions  which  are  precisely  like  Zeno's  problem 
of  Achilles  and  the  tortoise. 

I  never  knew  but  one  atheist,  and  the  bulwark  of  his  un- 
belief was  the  doctrines  of  natural  theology.  When  you 
attempted  his  conversion,  by  alleging  the  necessity  of  a 


8.]  OH,  A   TREATISE  ON  J.ANOUAO*.  I4l 


iMjtnr  for  the  sun,  moon,  fcc.  he  wo«*d  inquire, 
m  ade  them  f*  God.  ,  But  who  made  God  :>.  If  y  ou.  wd 
that  God  is  uncreated,  he  would  contend  that  you  abap(k» 
the  argument  by  which  you  seek  his  conversion  ;  for,  if  M 
is  necessary  that  the  sun  should  have  i*ad  a  maker,  he  <xu»>- 
siders  one  equally  necessary  to  the  maker  of  the  nun  :  and 
*-  'I  ,**  <?  rw»i>n  »  >'  %»  <**«.  *  ;***  -^ft  t  j*w^  «> 


Had  this  atheist  known  that  language  ig  impertinent  to 
the  whole  discussion  »  lie  would  have  seen  that  verbai  in- 
corapatibilitie*  afford  no  cau»e  to  di»beUev«  the  Mug  and 
attributes  of  Deity.  Yet  what  would  induce  him  to  be-r 
lieve  in  them  f  Revelation.  The  same  which  induce*  »« 
to  belieVe  in  the  Saviour.  -  •  * 

No  heresy  is  so  perniciouy  as  the  persuasion  that  Ged 
can  be  discovered  by  reason.  Science  has  at  various 
times  advanced  truths  which  were  thought  hostile  to  re- 
velation: but  they  all  eventually  have  been  confirmatory 
thereof.  A  disclosure  of  the  nature  of  language  will  re* 
suit  similarly.  Men  must  learn  that  they  can  look  to  re- 
velation alone,  not  for  a  Saviour  only,  but  for  every  part 
of  the  Godhead,  and  every  attribute  of  Deity.  Infidels 
must  discover  no  alternative  but  revelation  or  entire  ig- 
norance. The  god  whom  they  acknowledge  is  a  creature 
of  language,  and  apart  therefrom  has  no  existence.  He 
is  precisely  like  Hindoo,  and  other  heathen  deities,  who 
probably  all  originated  from  verbal  deductions  like  those 
of  natural  theo  legists. 

But  what  proof  have  we  of  the  truth  of  revelation  ? 
We  have  all  the  proof  which  we  ever  had,  and  its  suffi- 
ciency is  continually  evinced  by  the  number  of  believers. 
When  men  imagine  that  God  is  discoverable  indepen- 
dently of  revelation,  they  become  proud  of  what  they 


THC   riMkOSOPHV   ur   HUMtAiN-  KNOWIiBhUL  , 


«  *r*trt  dfcrt  of  reasem  They 


wrm?tf  'WHfMPvfl^ifmf^Bs'  Uwpir  goer,  tnatf  wto  ev^ 
whitch  rfiselbses  the  Gt*t  of  the  bifele;  toenec  they' 
eavil  with  tfce  declarations'  of  holy  writ,  and  either  beli  e  ve- 
er cbndemn  them  emiformably  to  the  dictates  of 

The  deity  of  Natural  Theology  is  generally 
to  suit  the  practices  of  his  votaries.  The  murdensi* 
tfla*  Ms  Grod  is  tr>o  earaited  to  regard  tiie  condtict 
the  Hbertine  considers  the  possession  of  inclinations  as  si 
proof  thm  the  gratification  of  them  must  be  an  accepta- 
ble hemn^e  to  their  maker;  and  the  scoffer  of  sacred  m»- 
Sltt«lton»'  believes  that  he  is  evincing  a  laudable  contempt 
of  rites  which  proceed  from  degrading-  views  of  t  hie  being 
of  His  adoration.  All  find  nqt  merely  an  excuse  for  their 
sin?,  but  an  incitement  to  sin.  If,  however,  it  shall  he 
known  that  God  IP  discoverable  in*  revelation  >  only;-'  every 
believer  must  he  a  Christian.  Nor  will  he  select  one  at- 
tribute of  Deity  and  reject  another  ;  or  belierc  in  a  part 
of  the  Godhead,  and  disbelieve  a  part  :  he  who  believes, 
Wilt  believe  in  all  things  revealed.. 

llfct  is  there  not  danger  that  the  belief  of  many  wilfr  be 
shaken  if  they  shall  fimhthat,  apart  from  the  Bible,  there 
is  no  knowledge  of  any  thing  but  of  the  phenomena  with 
which  we  are  surrounded  ?  Whose  belief  will  be  shake  rt  ? 
The  trs-  who  reject  the  Bible.  It  ought  to  be  shaken. 
They  must  seek  another  refuge,  and  none  will  be  found 
but  revelation. 

Yet  "again  t  What  proofs  have  wo  of  revelation  ?  We 
hmve  a  testimony  within  ourselves,  the  Holy  Spirit  acting 
on  our  feelings-.  There  is  in  the  sacred  volume  a  tenonr 
which  speak*  as  never  man  spuke.  Tho  happy  tendetxw 
of  its  morality  ;  the  deep  insight  that  it  gives  of  the  htt- 


tec.  &]  om,  A  TUCAHSB  ••  UUMVAiMU   >  -•  *.  149 


MMB  character;  its 
»«M!  to  every  vicissitude  of  life ;  the  age  in  wteoa  it  w*» 
?*>ttif>osed,  and  the  eireumatanees  of  its  comparers  ;  i»JI 
te»d  4o  bow  th«  understanding  and  tlw  will,  oat  *»*y  to 
aequiesee  in  its  doctrines,  but  to  cling  to  tbeatastbv  sol«t» 
of  affliction  ;  as  tho  only  ray  beyond  the  mysterious  sce*ee 
which  surround  us;  *s  the  councilor  in  the  cares  and 
pleasures  of  life,  and  the  comforter  in  affliction,  pain,  and 
death. 

But  H  may  still  be  said,  if  language  can  discourse  of  no- 
thing but  sights,  sounds,  tastes,  feels,  and  smells,  what 
can  revelation  teach  ?  A  revelation  must  necessarily  be 
adapted  to  our  capacity.  What  we  could  not  undeistnnd 
would  be  no  revelation.  We  are  told  that  we  shall  be 
•ubject  to  rewards  and  punishments,  words  which  proba- 
bly possess  a  reference  beyond  our  comprehension.  This, 
however,  matters  not.  The  words  were  spoken  for  the 
regulation  of  our  conduct,  and  not  for  the  gratification  of 
our  curiosity.  We  are  told  the  conduct  which  is  pleasing 
to  God,  and  the  conduct  that  is  displeasing.  We  are  in- 
structed how  to  obtain  His  favour,  and  how  to  become  ob- 
noxious to  His  displeasure.  All  that  belongs  to  life  is  re- 
vealed in  significant  language,  and  what  does  not  belong 
to  life  could  not  be  intelligible  in  any  language. 

You  must  recollect  that  my  remarks  on  Theology  were 
elicited  incidentally.  I  once  intended  to  omit  them,  as  too 
grave  a  subject  for  my  discussion  ;  but  I  preferred  to  show 
the  adaptation  of  my  doctrines  to  revelation,  than  to  leave 
the  adaption  to  other  persons,  who  might  easily  miscon 
strue  my  intentions,  or  mistake  the  tendency  of  my  tenets. 
Besides,  Natural  Theology  afforded  a  good  illustration  of 
the  errors  to  which  we  are  liable,  when  we  consider  the 


144  THE  PHIt.OKOrH  Y  OF  HUMAFfKNOWLKDGE  ;        [L«C.  S. 

conclusions  of  language  applicable,  not  onl j  to  the  pheno- 
mena from  which  the  conclusions  derive  ail  their  authority, 
but  to  cases  where  no  phenomena  are  discoverable.  That 
is,  because  every  thing  made  implies  a  maker)  we  are 
prone  to  suppose  that  the  proposition  has  reference  not 
only  to  this  house,  this  table,  and  the  various  other  objects 
in  which  the  necessity  of  a  maker  refers  to  our  operations 
and  experience,  but  to  the  earth  and  the  sun,  where  the 
necessity  refers  confessedly  to  no  sensible  archetype. 

Finally,  1  bare  spoken  of  Natural  Theology  not  to  de- 
tect its  errors,  but  to  elucidate  the  nature  of  language. 
With  the  same  view  I  intend  to  show  further  some  errors 
in  various  other  departments  of  knowledge.  This,  how- 
ever, would  lead  me  further  than  your  patience  to-night 
will  permit ;  I  must,  therefore,  defer  the  subject  to  my 
next  Lecture. 

• 


• 


9.]  Oily   A    THEATWB    ON    LAMUVA0*. 

.   ..,.,.  .,    ,       ,  ....  '•.>'•       - 


*•**»*-         . 


f 


T~  USCTURE    IX. 


.       -. 

MN 

• 


IN  my  last  Lecture,  I  gave  some  examples  in  Natural  The- 
ology, of  the  manner  in  which  we  continue  the  forms  of 
ianffftage,  after  the  phenomena  are  withdrawn  that  give 
significancy  to  the  forms  :  for  instance,  to  say  that  every 
thing  made  implies  a  maker,  is  significant  when  we  refer 
to  a  watch  or  any  other  human  fabrication  ;  but  it  is  in- 
significant when  we  refer  to  the  earth  or  sun,  for  the  as- 
sertion then  refers  to  no  sensible  phenomenon. 

In  the  present  Lecture,!  am  to  exemplify  the  same  error 
in  other  branches  of  learning;  and  when  we  shall  exhibit 
the  monstrous  conclusions  to  which  this  use  of  language 
constantly  leads  us,  you  will  probably  be  astonished  that 
the  fallacy  of  the  process  has  so  long  escaped  detec- 
tion. 

The  first  instance  to  which  I  shall  advert,  is  the  dogma 
that  the  earth  is  suspended  in  space.  If  we  say  the  earth 
rests  on  any  thing,  the  question  occurs  immediately,  what 
does  that  rest  6n  ?  For  the  principle  which  furnishes  the 

19 


146  TUB    riiiLOSOFHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;       [lie*.  «. 

earth  with  a  support,  forces  us  to  find  something  on  which 
the  supporj  may  rest.  Hence,  if  we  adopt  the  Indian  tra- 
dition, that  the  world  rests  on  an  elephant,  and  the  ele- 
phant on  a  tortoise,  we  must  ^till  find  something  for  the 
tortoise  to  rest  on  ;  and  so  in  infinitum.  But  this  leads 
to  no  end,  and  there  must  be  an  end,  or  there  is  no  use  in 
predicating  any  supporter ;  therefore,  we  discard  both 
Atlas  and  the  elephant,  and  say,  that  the  earth  is  suspend- 
ed without  a  support. 

Nor  can  the  earth  hang  on  any  thing.  A  support  from 
above  requires  a  beginning  as  much  as  a  support  from  be- 
low. We  may  suspend  the  earth  with  a  chain  from  the 
sky,  but  what  sustains  the  sky  ?  Another  chain  from 
another  sky.  But  what  sustains  the  latter  f  There  must 
be  a  commencement,  and  that  can  have  nothing  to  sus- 
tain it  ;  hence  there  is  no  use  in  predicating  any  sustrtiner. 
and  the  earth  is  left  without  support  either  from  above  or 
below. 

A  little  attention  will  convince  you,  that  the  language 
refers  wholly  to  our  operations,  and  to  the  phenomena  with 
which  we  are  conversant,  and  when  applied  to  the  earth, 
the  words  have  no  sensible  archetype,  arid  are  therefore 
insignificant.  The  moment  I  cease  from  supporting  a 
stone  it  falls.  It  must  have  a  support,  and  the  necessity 
is  precisely  what  you  will  discover,  if  you  attempt  to 
suspend  a  stone  without  a  support.  Here  the  necessity 
is  significant ;  but  when  we  apply  the  same  language  to 
the  earth,  we  refer  to  nothing  which  the  earth  exhibits, 
and  the  necessity  is  merely  verbal. 

Again :  why  must  we  predicate  support  after  support 
in  iniinitum  f  Because  we  are  referring,  not  to  any  phe- 
nomenon which  the  earth  exhibits,  but  to  our  operations 


9.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON    LANGUAGE-  147 

with  the  objects  that  surround  us.  The  stone  is  now  sup- 
ported by  the  table ;  but.  what  supports  the  table  ?  The 
floor.  Why  doe* the  table  need  a  support?  Try  if  you 
can  make  it  stand  without,  and  Ihcn  \ou  will  know.  We 
may  predicate  support  after  support,  till  we  reach  the 
earth ;  and  if  we  thence  continue  the  predication,  our 
language  loses  ail  significancy.  The  predication  be- 
comes like  the  infinite  divisibility  of  matter,  or  the  race  of 
Achilles  and  the  tortoise,  or  the  fabrication  of  every  thing 
out  of  nothing,  or  any  other  mere  verbal  process — a  clash- 
ing of  words  without  any  ulterior  signification. 

That  we  have  to  admit  finally,  either  a  first  support, 
which  is  itself  unsupported,  or  that  the  earth  is  without  any 
support,  shows  that  we  are  employing  language  insignifi- 
cantly ;  that  we  are  wandering  in  fairy  land.  Support 
and  supported,  are  names  of  sights  and  reels  :  when  we 
apply  the  words  where  the  sights  and  feels  are  undisco- 
verable,  the  words  lose  their  significancy :  divested  of 
their  conventional  character,  they  become  again  unmean- 
ing sounds. 

That  the  earth  is  round,  is  also  a  necessity  created  by 
language.  Why  must  the  earth  possess  any  shape  ?  Be- 
cause all  tangible  bodies  must  hare  a  shape.  But  why? 
We  may  thrust  back  the  question  as  often  as  we  can  find 
new  expressions,  but  wo  must  ultimately  resort  to  our 
senses,  to  whose  phenomena  alone  the  necessity  has  ie- 
ference.  Shape  is  tlic  name  of  a  feel  and  a  sight.  .  You 
discover  them  in  this  table.  If  you  wish  to  know  why  the 
table  must  have  a  shnpe,  try  and  manufacture  one  without 
a  shape,  and  you  will  discover  the  necessity.  It  will  be 
just  what  you  will 


148  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OP    HUMAN    KNOWLBDGl  ;    [Lee.  9. 

But  why  most  the  earth  hare  a  shape  ?  Here  the  ne- 
cessity is  verbal.  I  cannot  refer  you  to  your  senses,  a*  in 
the  case  of  the  table,  but  I  must  refer  you  to  the  table,  or 
some  other  tangible  object.  The  very  reason  why  a 
shape  is  indispensible  to  the  objects  which  we  handle,  is 
conclusive  that  it  is  inapplicable  to  the  earth.  Shape  i» 
indispensible  to  these,  because  the  word  names  a  sight 
and  a  feel,  which  they  constantly  exhibit ;  but  it  is  inap- 
plicable to  the  earth,  because  it  names  a  -sight  and  a  feel 
that  the  earth  never  exhibits. 

Language  can  be  significant  of  nothing  but  the  sights, 
feels,  sounds,  tastes,  and  smells,  which  we  experience: 
hence  the  nullity  of  the  word  shape,  when  applied  to  the 
earth  as  a  whole.  You  must  remember  that  I  do  not 
maintain  that  the  earth  has  no  shape,  but  that  the  word 
shape  becomes  insignificant  when  it  does  not  refer  to  some 
discoverable  phenomenon. 

To  say  that  the  entire  earth  must  have  a  certain  smell 
or  taste,  would  be  deemed  puerile  ;  but  the  assertion  is 
not  more  puerile  than  to  say  the- whole  earth  must  have  a 
shape.  Why  we  predicate  of  the  earth  a  shape  I  have 
endeavoured  to  show ;  and  I  may  employ  a  similar  pro- 
cess to  explain  why  we  do  not  consider  a  smell  equally 
essential.  Both  results  are  the  effects  of  our  experience 
in  the  tangible  bodies  that  surround  us,  and  apart  from 
these  bodies  neither  result  has  any  significance.  To  as- 
sert that  the  earth  has  a  shape,  is  highly  significant  when 
we  refer  to  the  appearance  of  the  moon  under  an  eclipse, 
or  to  the  gradual  disappearance  of  a  ship  in  its  recession 
from  the  shore,  or  when  we  refer  to  anv  other  phenome- 
non ;  but  the  moment  we  refer  to  any  thing  that  our 


9.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  149 

cannot  discover,  the  shape  of  the  earth  becomes 
an  unmeaning  expression, 

But  if  the  earth  has  a  shape,  what  shape  must  it  have  f 
That  of  a  plane,  a  globe,  a  cone,  an  oblong,  a  rhombus, 
or  a  square,  &c.  to  the  end  of  our  vocabulary  of  shape*. 
But  why  must  the  shape  be  one  of  these  ?  Because  there 
can  be  no  other  shape.  Why  ?  Try  if  you  can  make  a 
shape  that  is  not  one  of  these,  and  you  will  discover. 
Here  again  the  necessity  has  reference  to  our  experience 
only. 

But  of  what  shape  is  the  earth  ? — A  plane.  No  ;  the 
earth  eannot  be  a  plane,  for  then  there  would  be  some 
place,  (of  land  or  water,)  where  we  might  fall  off.  Why  f 
Because  every  plane  must  have  a  termination.  It  may 
be  a  million  of  miles  long,  or  a  trillion  ;  but  it  must  have 
an  end.  But,  why  ?  For  this  reason  only, — we  experi- 
ence that  planes  always  possess  a  termination.  Do  you 
wish  to  know  farther  why  every  plane  must  have  a  ter- 
mination ?  You  will  discover  conclusively,  if  you  attempt 
to  construct  a  plane  that  shall  be  interminable.  * 

«••  If  the  surface  of  the  earth  has  no  termination,  what 
shape  must  the  earth  possess  F — Round  or  oval.  Why  f 
Because  to  admit  that  there  is  no  termination,,  implies 
that  the  shape  is  round  or  oval.  But  whence  this  impli- 
cation ?  Try  to  make  such  a  surface,  and  you  will  dis- 
cover. The  necessity  of  a  rotundity,  is  just  what  you  will 
experience.  Hence,  when  I  say  that  a  surface  which  has 
no  commencement  or  termination  must  be  round,  the  ne- 
cessity is  significant  so  long  as  it  refers  to  an  apple,  or  any 
thing  in  which  the  necessity  is  discoverable  ;  but  when 
the  proposition  is  applied  to  the  earth,  the  necessity  of  a 
roundness  is  merely  verbal.  The  roundness  may  refer  to 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWUBDGE  ;    [LeC.  8, 

t)M(  various  phenomena  which  we  relate  in  proof  of  the 
earth's  sphericity,  hut  if  it  refers  to, nothing  more,  it  meane 
no  more  than  those  phenomena.  <3Jfe-: 

Again  :  if  yon  take  an  artificial  globe  and  pierce  it  with 
pins,  so  that  their  points  shall  all  be  directed  to  ike  cen- 
tre, there  must  constantly  be  some  whose  heads  will  hang 
down,  diametrically  opposite  to  the  beads  of  some  of  the 
other  pins.  Why  /  Make  the  experiment  and  you  will 
know.  But  to  what  do  we  advert  by  saying,  there  must 
also  be  some  part  of  the  earth,  where  the  feet  of  the  inha- 
bitants are  diametrically  opposite  to  our  feet  f  We  refer 
to  no  phenomenon.  '  The  first  proposition  would  be  signi- 
ficant if  we  had  never  heard  of  the  second,  but  the  second 
would  be  unintelligible  if  we  had  not  heard  of  the  first. 
The  necessity  that  the  pins  should  have  antipodes,  is  * 
result  of  our  experience  ;  but  the  necessity  thai  wen 
should  have  antipodes,  exists  in  the  forma  of  language 
only  :  forms  that  cease  to  be  significant,  where  the  phe- 
nomena to  which  they  refer  cease  from  being  discover- 
able. 

Show  me  a  man  who  exhibits  the  same  appearance  in 
relation  to  the  earth,  as  the  pins  exhibit  in  relation  to  the 
artificial  globe.  •  You  cannot : — hence  the  nullity  of  the 
position.  The  moment  we  employ  language  to  discourse 
of  what  is  not  sight,  sound,  taste,  feel,  or  smell,  we  are 
transported  into  an  enchanted  world,  where  the  wonders 
are  more  incredible  than  those  which  amuse  infancy. 

But  are  not  the  phenomena  exhibited  by  the  earth  con- 
clusive that  it  is  globular,  since  you  cannot  produce  simi- 
lar appearances  with  any  other  shape  f  Granted.  ^  The 
necessity  of  admitting  its  sphcricalness  refers  to  our  ope- 
rations. It  is  a  sphere  by  the  same  necessity  that  impels 


LeO.  9.]          •         OR,    A.    TilEAflS*    ON    LANm?A«fc. 

a  child  to  admit  an  automaton  is  animated.  He  never 
saw  any  thing  inanimate  Which  could  open  and  close  Us 
eyes,  move  its  feet,  hands,  and  head  ;  hence  the  automa- 
ton must  be  an i mate.  9he  child  is ,  hoftvever ,  correct ,  if 
he  employs  the  word  animate  to* name  what  he  discovers 
merely  ;>  an cf  we  are  correct  in  calling  the  earth  a  globe, 
if  we  use  the  word  to  name' what  we  discover  :  but  tile 
child  is  wrong* when  he,  by  virtue  of  the  name  which  fce 
hmi  attached  to  the  automaton,  imputes  to  it  a  power  to 
:€*l,  drink,  and  slee}> ;  and  we  are  equally  wrong  whon, 
by  rirtue  of  the  Mime  that  we  have  given  to  the  earth, 
we  maintain  thafitfe  inhabitants,  of  different  places,  must 
carry  their  -head's  diametrically  opposite ;  that  no  two 
lines  perpendicular  to  the  earth  can  he  parallel,  and  all 
the  other  phenomena  discoverable  in  artificial  globes. 

Mathematicians  demonstrate  that  a  line  may  be  indefi- 
nitely divided :  thus*,  draw  a  line  AC,  and  another  (BM) 
perpendicular  to  it.  The  latter  line  must  \ 
be  interminable  in  the  direction  toward 
Q.  Braw  also  another  line  (DE)  pa- 
rattel  to  BM.  You  may  now  take  any 
point  (P)  in  Ihe  line  BQ,  and  from  P, 
aft  a  centre,  describe,  at  the  distance 
FB,  the  arch  Bp.  In  the  same  manner 
you  may  take  the  points  O,  it,  and  M,  and  from  eafch,  at 
the  <K*tauce  of  B,  describe  the  arches  Bo,  Bn,  and  BM. 
Evidently  the  further  the  centre  is  taken  from  B,  the  mere 
nearly  the  arches  will  approach  to  D  ;  and  the  line  ED 
will  be  divided  into  parts  that  will  diminish  in  si»e  at 
every  operation.  But  the  line  Bm  may  be  interminably 


*  Keith  on  4he  Globes,  J>.  8.  43. 


I  to  TftB    PHILOSOPHY    0»    HUMAN    KHOWLBDG*  ;         [LeC.  ». 


extended  beyond  8Q;  therefore  the  line  ED  may  be 
tinually  diminished.  But  it  «*n  never  be  reduced  to  no- 
thing, because  an  arch  of  a  circle  cannot  coincide  with 
the  straight*  line  BC  :  hence  <$D  may  be  diminished  in 
inflnitum.  "  « 

Why  can  the  arch  of  a  circle  never  coincide -with  a 
straight  line?  Because  the  terms  imply  that  it  cannot . 
But  Jiow  came  the  terms  to  possess  this  implication  ?  By 
referring  to  our  operations  and  the  phenomena  with  which 
we  are  conversant.  Try  to  make  a*  arch  coincide  with 
a  straight  line,  and  you  will  discover  the  incompatibility. 
It  alludes  to  sensible  phenomena  onlf.  ,  After  adopting 
the  phrase,  we,  however,  make  its  authority  superior  to 
that  "of  our  senses  ;  for  if.,we  endeavour,  we  can  form  a 
circle  so  large  that  its  arch  will  coincide  with  a  short 
straight  line.  You  will  say  I  am  mistaken.  The  appa- 
rent coincidence  is  a  defect  of  my  sight.  Yet  how  do  you 
know  that  1  am  mistaken  ?  You  have  no  authority  ex- 
cept the  evidence  of  ypur  sight  in  small  circles,  and,  for 
asserting  the  present  coincidence,  I  have  the  evidence  of 
my  sight  in  the  very  case  under  investigation.  The  want 
of  coincidence  is  a  sensible  phenomenon,  when  predicated 
of  some  circles ;  but  it  is  only  a  verbal  incompatibility, 
when  predicated  of  others.  Hence  the  line  ED  cannot 
be  diminished  in  infinitunit  You  will  soon  produce  so 
large  an  arch  that  it  will  coincide  with  BD  ;  and  then  the 
further  diminution  of  the  line  ED  will  cease  from  naming 
any  thing  sensible,  and  become  diminution  minus  diminu- 
tion— a  sound  divested  of  its  signification. 

The  verbal  process  which  diminishes  ED  in  infinitum, 
will  prove  that  water  is  not  level ;  for  if  the  earth  is 
round,  the  surface  of  a  fish-pond  is  the  arch  of  a  circle, 
and  therefore  cannot  coincide  with  a  straight  line. 


.  9.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  153 

Mr.  Reed*,  in  speaking  of  the  divisibility  of  bodies, 
says,  there  scerns  nothing  more  evident  than  that,  all  bodies 
must  consist  of  parts.  Why  must  they  f  Because  the 
word  body  implies  an  aggregation.  But  whence  this  im- 
plication f  We  may,  as  heretofore,  proceed  in  a  round  of 
questions % without  arriving  at  any  result.  If,  however, 
you  undertake  to  discover  a  body  which  cannot  be  divided, 
you  will  learn  why  all  bodies  must  consist  of  parts.  The 
necessity  of  parts  has  no  meaning  but  our  experience,  and 
hence  the  absurdity  of  predicating  the  necessity,  after  our 
senses  testify  that  no  phenomena  are  discoverable.  We 
may  employ  the  proposition  of  Mr.  Heed  to  prove  that  an 
atom  is  divisible  in  infmitum,  since  every  division  still 
leaves  a  body  which  is  composed  of  parts;  but  our  lan- 
guage loses  its  siguificaney  in  the  process,  and  the 
parts  which  we  are  dividing  become  sounds  signifying 
nothing. 

.  Locke,  in  his  Essays,  says,  "oifr  idea  of  space  is  bound- 
less. Any  bounds,  even  adamantine  walls,  cannot  arre&t 
the  mind  in  its  progress  through  space  and  extension,  for 
so  fur  as  that  body  reaches,  no  person  can  deny  extension  ; 
and  when  we  arrive  at  the  extremity  of  body,  what  can 
there  satisfy  the  mind  that  it  is  at  the  end  of  space  ?" 

Yet,  when  we  reach  the  walls,  why  can  we  not  say  we 
arc  at  the  end  of  extension  ?  Endeavour  to  constitute  a 
wall  that  shall  not  possess  extension,  and  you  will  dis- 
cover why  we  cannot  say  that  a  wall  is  the  end  of  exten- 
sion. But  when  we  arrive  at  the  termination  of  the  wall, 
why  can  we  not  then  say,  that  we  are  at  the  end  of  exten- 
sion ?  Attempt  to  construct  a  wall  that  will  enable  you  to 

*  Kssny  II.  on  tlic  Intellectual  Powers. 


154  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;         [L.CC.  9. 

make  such  a  declaration,  and  you  will  learn  why  we  can- 
not. The  difficulty  will  be  just  what  you  experience. 
To  this  experience  language  refers,  and  further,  words 
have  no  signification.  We  may  amuse  ourselves  with 
framing  propositions  such  as  Locke's,  but  we  mean  no- 
thing but  what  our  senses  discover. 

But  why,  says  Locke,  does  no  body  ever  think  of  infi- 
nite sweetness  or  infinite  whiteness,  though  he  can  repeat 
the  idea  of  sweet  and  white  as  frequently  as  those  of  a 
yard  or  a  day  ?  Because,  answers  Locke,  only  those  ideas 
which  have  parts  arc  capable,  by  repetition,  of  producing 
the  idea  of  infinity.  But  why  ?  Because,  says  Locke,  with 
this  endless  repetition  of  ideas  there  is  a  constant  enlarge- 
ment. But  why  ?  Locke  does  not  answer.  I  will  answer 
for  him.  The  words  refer  to  our  operations,  and  the  phe- 
nomena with  which  we  arc  conversant.  This  stick  must 
be  longer  if  you  add  to  it  another  stick.  Why  ?  Make  the 
experiment  and  you  wilt  discover.  The  necessity  has  no 
other  reference  :  and  hence  the  absurdity  of  using  it  where 
no  phenomena  are  discoverable. 

Why  does  no  body  think  of  infinite  sweetness,  or  infi- 
nite whiteness,  though  he  can  repeat  the  idea  of  sweetness 
and  whiteness  as  frequently  as  the  idea  of  a  stick  ?  Be- 
cause, says  Locke,  to  the  idea  of  the  whitest  whiteness,  if 
I  add  another  of  a  less  or  equal  whiteness,  it  makes  no  in- 
crease or  enlargement  of  my  idea.  Why?  Because,  he 
remarks,  if  you  take  the  idea  of  white,  which  was  yield- 
ed yesterday  by  a  parcel  of  snow,  and  join  it  in  your 
mind  with  the  idea  of  whiteness  that  is  yielded  to-day  by 
another  parcel  of  snow,  the  two  ideas  embody  into  one, 
and  the  idea  of  whiteness  is  not  increased.  But  why?  He 
answers  not.  The  answer  is,  however,  extremely  simple, 


LeC.  9.]         OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  155 

and  shows  that  language  has  no  meaning  when  it  does 
not  refer  to  sensible  phenomena.  Why,  then,  cannot  one 
piece  of  snow  he  made  whiter  by  the  addition  of  another 
piece  ?  Conjoin  them  and  you  will  discover.  This  is  a 
simple  reason,  but  no  other  is  so  good.  The  term  "  can- 
not" refers  to  this  experiment,  and  not  to  verbal  reasons. 
They  have  neither  authority  nor  significance,  when  they 
are  used  without  a  reference  to  phenomena. 

It  appears,  then,  there  is  no  length  which  may  not  be 
increased,  though  there  is  a  limit  to  the  increase  of  white- 
ness. The  process  is  thus  announced  by  Locke  :  "  Every 
person  who  has  an  idea  of  a  foot,  finds  that  he  can  repeat 
the  idea  ;  and  joining  it  to  the  former,  make  the  idea  of 
two  feet,  and  so  on  without  ever  arriving  at  an  end  of  his 
increase,  whether  the  idea  so  enlarged  be  a  foot  or  a  mile, 
or  the  diameter  of  the  earth,  or  the  orbis  magnus." 

I  would  ask,  however,  what  he  enlarges?  So  long  as 
he  speaks  of  joining  one  foot  to  another,  he  speaks  signifi- 
cantly ;  but  when  he  talks  of  enlarging  his  idea  by  doub- 
ling the  diameter  of  the  earth,  the  process  becomes  verbal, 
and  the  necessity  which  compels  us  to  admit  the  enlarge- 
ment, has  no  existence  but  in  the  forms  of  language  : — 
forms  that  owe  their  significance  to  their  reference  to  phe- 
nomena, and  become  insignificant  the  moment  they  are 
applied  where  no  corresponding  phenomena  are  discover- 
able. To  enlarge  in  infinitum,  and  to  diminish  in  infirii- 
tum,  are  processes  of  the  same  character;  they  are  words 
which  have  no  archetype  among  sensible  phenomena,  and 
are  therefore  sounds  significant  of  nothing. 

In  Gill's  Body  of  Divinity  is  the  following  proposition : 
"  Though  angels  have  no  bodies,  and  so  are  not  in  place 


TUB  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN   KNOWLEDGE  J         [L«JC.  0- 

circumspectively ;  yet,  as  they  are  creatures,  they  must 
have  a  somewhere  in  which  they  arc  definitively." 

Why  must  creatures  have  a  place  in  which  'they  exist  ? 
Because  the  words  refer  to  sensible  phenomena.  This 
book  is  a  creature.  If  you  attempt  to  dispose  of  the 
book  so  that  it  shall  exist,  and  still  have  no  location,  you 
will  discover  the  impracticability.  It  will  be  what  you  ex- 
perience. But  when  the  same  impracticability  is  predi- 
cated of  angels,  it  exists  only  in  the  forms  of  language ; 
forms  which  have  no  more  substantiality,  when  the  phe- 
nomena to  which  they  allude  are  subtracted,  than  the 
muster-rolls  of  an  army,  when  the  soldiers  have  all  de- 
serted. 

The  writer  proceeds  with  his  metaphysical-tliscoyeriear: 
"  where  was  a  place  for  angels  to  exist  in  before  heaven 
and  earth  were  made  ?  No  where."  Why  ?  Because  we 
are  again  referring  to  the  phenomena  with  which  we  are 
conversant,  and  language  can  have  no  other  reference. 
The  writer,  however,  thinks  his  reasoning  is  conclusive, 
that  the  heavens  or  the  earth  must  have  been  created  be- 
fore angels.  Yet  even  this  obvious  consequence  of  the 
premises  is  authoritative  only  because  it  refers  to  our  ope- 
rations :  thus,  you  cannot  mark  with  chalk  till  you  have 
something  on  which  to  inscribe  the  mark.  Why  ?  Try 
and  you  will  find.  The  difficulty  in  this  case  is  not  logi- 
cal, but  a  phenomenon  of  nature.  The  phenomenon 
affixes  to  the  inability  a  signification,  but  without  the  phe- 
nomenon the  inability  is  verbal  only  :  it  is  unmeaning. 

Locke  says,  "  number  applies  to  men,  angels,  actions, 
thoughts,  and  every  thing  imaginable."  If  any  proposi- 
tion is  inherently  significant  and  independent  of  phenome- 
na, this  of  Locke  must  be  the  one.  Yet  even  this  is  in- 


LeC.  9.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  157 

debted  for  its  significance  to  our  operations  and  expe- 
rience. Why  must  apples  be  either  one  or  more  ?  Try 
to  prevent  the  necessity  and  you  will  discover.  The  ne- 
cessity depends  not  on  the  structure  of  language,  but  on 
the  phenomenon.  But  why  must  angels  be  ekher  one  or 
more  ?  The  necessity  here  refers  to  no  phenomenon,  and 
is  merely  verbal.  Number  may  be  inapplicable  to  angels. 
It  is  a  name  given  by  us  to  certain  sights  and  feels,  &c.  ; 
where  these  exist  not,  number  is  a  word  divested  of  its 
signification.  Suppose  we  were  to  apply  numbers  to 
darkness,  insipidity,  or  vacuity,  we  should  speak  unintel- 
ligibly ;  because  these  objects  exhibit  not  the  sights  and 
feels  to  which  numbers  are  ordinarily  applied.  This  il- 
lustration may  assist  you  to  apprehend  that  where  all  the 
phenomena  with  which  we  are  conversant  should  be  ab- 
sent, the  word  numbers  would  have  no  signification  ;  hence 
it  may  not  be  applicable  to  angels.  We  affix  it  to  them 
in  compliance  with  the  forms  of  language. 

I  have  now  shown,  that  when  language  forces  us  to  ad- 
mit any  thing,  (as  in  the  above  instance,  that  apples  must 
be  either  one  or  more,)  the  necessity  of  admitting  the  con- 
clusion is  founded  on  our  experience.  I  have  also  shown 
that  when  propositions  have  thus  obtained  an  authoritative 
character,  we  apply  them  where  there  are  no  correspond- 
ing phenomena  :  as  that  angels  must  be  either  one  or 
more  ;  and  that,  in  such  applications,  the  necessity  of  ad- 
mitting the  conclusion  is  merely  verbal,  and  therefore  fal- 
lacious. 

The  present  lecture  has  been  particularly  devoted  to  the 
latter  elucidation.  Examples  of  the  error  might  be  accu- 
mulated without  difficulty,  but  I  have  probably  stated  a 
sufficient  number  aud  variety  to  show  that  the  error  enters 


15$  TUB  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;  [Lee.  9. 

deeply  into  all  our  learning.  We  shall  now.be  able  to  dis- 
cover a  reason  for  the  great  solicitude  evinced  by  abstruse 
writers  about  names  and  definitions.  For  instance,  if  a 
mathematician  wishes  to  demonstrate  that  the  surface  of  a 
fish-pond  is  not  level,  it  is  important  that  the  earth  should 
be  denominated  a  sphere;  because,  after  this  preliminary, 
and  a  suitable  definition  of  the  term,  it  follows  that  as  the 
fish-pond  constitutes  a  part  of  the  circumference  of  a 
sphere,  the  surface  of  the  water  cannot  be  a  straight  line. 
This,  then,  is  the  reason  why  we  find  amongst  abstract 
writers  so  much  labour  in  the  definition  of  the  names  on 
which  their  theories  are  to  be  erected.  The  investigation 
of  this  subject  is  important  to  the  view  which  I  wish  to 
present  of  language,  and  it  constitutes  the  theme  of  our 
next  Lecture. 


LeC.  10.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    OFC    LANGUAGE. 


159 


UBCTURE    X. 


IN  the  present  discourse  I  am  to  show  that  theorists  are 
solicitous  about  names  and  definitions,  because  their  spe- 
culations are  often  verbal  deductions  from  such  names:  for 
instance,  if  they  wish  to  prove  that  the  surface  of  a  pond 
is  not  level,  they  must  premise  that  the  earth  is  a  sphere, 
and  the  pond  a  part  of  its  circumference. 

The  error  of  this  process  is,  that  words  have  as  many 
significations  as  they  have  applications  to  different  pheno- 
mena ;  consequently,  though  the  assertion  is  true  when 
applied  to  an  artificial  sphere,  that  no  part  of  its  circum- 
ference is  level ;  yet  the  assertion  is  sophistical  when  the 
word  sphere  is  applied  to  the  earth,  because  sphere  has 
then  a  different  signification. 

So  curiously  have  some  theories  become  confounded 
verbally  with  sensible  phenomena,  that  when  I  lately 


160  THE    PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;         [Let.   10. 

asked  a  friend  what  he  meant  by  saying  the  earth  was 
round,  he  thought  I  was  trifling  with  him.  When  I 
pressed  him  for  an  answer,  he  said  it  was  round  like  any 
other  round  body.  I  desired  an  example.  He  pointed  to 
an  artificial  globe.  But,  said  I,  in  what  is  the  earth  like 
the  globe  ?  Does  it  present  the  same  sight,  or  the  same 
feel  ?  Neither  : — but  when  a  fly  walks  over  the  globe, 
he  produces  an  appearance  similar  to  what  a  receding 
ship  exhibits  to  spectators  on  the  shore.  Again,  when  a 
ship  sails  in  a  continued  course  wcstwardly,  it  returns  to 
the  country  whence  it  originally  departed  ;  as  a  fly  re- 
turns when  he  walks  on  an  artificial  globe.  Besides,  the 
shadow  of  an  artificial  globe  resembles  the  appearance 
which  is  exhibited  on  the  moon  when  cclipsqd  ;  an  ap- 
pearance which  we  are  assured  by  astronomers  is  the 
shadow  of  the  earth. 

True,  said  I,  the  earth  exhibits  these  phenomena,  and 
hence  you  deduce  its  sphericity.  All  that  I  wish  is  to  con- 
vince you  that  the  word  sphere,  when  applied  to  the  earth, 
is  not  the  name  of  a  sight  and  feel,  (as  it  is  when  applied 
to  an  artificial  globe)  but  the  name  of  certain  other  pheno- 
mena. It  would  be  idle  to  prove  by  argument  that  an  ar- 
tificial globe  is  spherical.  We  can  see  and  feel  it,  and  thus 
decide  immediately.  But  we  cannot  act  thus  with  the 
earth ;  hence  it  has  been  repeatedly  subjected  to  experi- 
ments, for  the  procurement  of  data  from  which  its  shape 
might  be  inferred.  If,  then,  we  would  avoid  the  latent 
sophistry  of  language,  we  must  carefully  remember  that 
the  word  sphere,  wrhcn  applied  to  the  earth,  is  a  name  of 
these  data  only. 

If  I  admit  that  there  is  fire  in  my  hand,  you  may  deduce 
therefrom  that  my  hand  will  be  burnt.  The  conclusion 


Lee.  10.]        OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.    .         161 

seems  inevitable.  But  you  ought  to  know  first  whether  I 
apply  the  word  fire  to  what  you  have  always  found  pro- 
ductive of  such  a  result.  Perhaps  I  hold  in  my  hand  pa- 
per on  which  the  word  fire  is  written.  This,  however, 
you  would  denounce  as  a  quibble.  It  is  a  quibble,  and  a 
vast  many  philosophical  conclusions  are  produced  by  a 
process  similar  in  character  to  the  quibble,  though  not  so 
obvious  to  detection. 

a  If  we  employ  language  simply  to  refer  to  phenomena, 
no  serious  evil  can  arise  from  the  terms  we  adopt ;  but  if 
we  select  words  to  draw  from  them  logical  deductions,  the 
slightest  change  of  phraseology  may  produce  in  philoso- 
phy revolutions  which  no  man  can  foresee  till  he  has 
found  all  the  consequences  that  may  be  logically  deduced 
from  the  new  names  which  he  introduces.  The  metaphy- 
sician who  concludes  his  book  by  asserting  that  nothing 
exists  exterior  of  his  mind,  might  have  concluded  it  by  as- 
serting that  every  thing  is  exterior,  if  he  had  only  named 
the  objects  of  his  knowledge  impressions  instead  of  ideas. 

Dougald  Stewart,  in  his  Essays,  says,  "  the  assertion 
of  Berkeley,  that  extension  and  figure  have  merely  an 
ideal  existence,  tends  to  unhinge  the  whole  frame  of  the 
human  understanding,  by  shaking  our  confidence  in  those 
principles  of  belief  which  form  an  essential  part  of  its  con- 
stitution." 

What  serious  consequences  from  the  use  of  a  new 
phrase  !  But,  if  we  consider  the  language  of  Berkeley 
as  merely  a  designation  of  phenomena,  his  phraseology 
will  be  unimportant.  We  may  call  extension  and  figure 
either  ideal  existences,  or  material  existences,  and  our 

language  will  mean What  ?     Just  what  you  see  and 

feel.     Our  knowledge  of  phenomena  must  be  identical, 

21 


163  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN.  KNOWLEDGE   ;    [LeC.  10. 

though  our  language  in  relation  to  them  may  be  diverse. 
If,  however,  we  use  language  for  the  purpose  of  deducing 
consequences  from  names,  the  phraseology  is  important ; 
but  the  importance  is  founded  in  ignorance  of  the  nature 
of  langu  age- 
Again:  Mr.  Stewart  says,  "  In  consequence  of  the 
writings  of  Reid  and  a  few  others,  the  word  idea  itself  is 
universally  regarded  as  a  suspicious  and  dangerous  term  ; 
and  it  has  already  lost  its  technical  or  cartesian  meaning, 
by  being  identified  as  a  synonime  with  the  more  popular 
word  notion." 

Here  philosophy  is  improved  by  simply  substituting  the 
word  notion  for  the  word  idea.  But  why  ?  Because  the 
verbal  consequences  which  we  deduce  from  the  word  idea 
cannot  be  deduced  from  the  word  notion.  The  change  of 
phraseology  is  an  improvement,  because  we  make  an  im- 
proper use  of  language.  We  know  not  that  the  meaning 
of  a  word  fluctuates  with  the  phenomenon  to  which  it 
refers. 

In  the  system  of  one  philosopher,  "  ideology  is  stated 
to  be  a  branch  of  zoology,  and  to  have  for  its  object  an  ex- 
amination of  the  intellectual  faculties  of  man  and  of  other 
animals."  Mr.  Stewart  is  startled  at  this  phraseology, 
and  says — "  the  classification  is  extraordinary,  and  it  is 
obviously  intended  to  prepare  the  way  for  an  assumption 
which  levels  men  with  the  brutes." 

A  very  serious  effect  from  a  cause  so  trivial  !  If  phi- 
losophers can,  with  a  dash  of  their  pen,  level  men  with 
brutes,  we  may  account  as  authentic  history  the  enchant- 
ments of  Circe.  But  the  most  which  any  writer  can  ac- 
complish is  to  transform  names.  Philosophers  may  apply 
to  brutes,  as  well  as  men,  the  phrase  intellectual  faculties  ; 


10.]       OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  163 

but  the  phenomena  exhibited  by  both  will  not  become  iden- 
tical from  possessing  the  same  name.  Philosophers  can 
extend  to  quadrupeds  the  term  man,  but  even  this  will  not 
level  men  with  brutes  ;  it  will  level  the  name  only.  The 
phenomena  which  give  significance  to  the  name,  will  con- 
tinue distinct  and  inconvertible. 

Whether  the  earth  be  named  a  sphere  or  a  plane  is  of 
little  consequence,  so  long  as  we  use  the  name  to  desig- 
nate the  phenomena  only  which  are  exhibited  by  the 
earth  ;  but  the  name  becomes  essential,  if  we  employ  it  to 
deduce  therefrom  what  our  senses  cannot  discover. 
Whether  two  perpendicular  poles  that  may  stand  before 
me  are  parallel,  depends  entirely  on  the  name  by  which 
I  designate  the  earth.  If  I  use  the  word  sphere,  the  two 
poles  are  hot  parallel,  maugre  all  that  seeing  and  feeling 
can  testify  to  the  contrary ;  because  you  can  mathemati- 
cally demonstrate  that  no  two  lines  perpendicular  to  the 
surface  of  a  sphere  can  be  parallel. 

The  phenomena  exhibited  by  the  heavenly  bodies  are 
equally  apparent  to  all  men ;  and  whether  we  call  them 
the  motion  of  the  heavenly  bodies  around  the  earth,-  or 
the  motion  of  the  earth  around  its  own  axis,  and  around 
the  sun,  IB  unimportant,  so  long  as  we  employ  the  words 
to  name  the  phenomena  only  which  our  senses  discover  : 
but  when  we  proceed  beyond  our  senses,  the  phraseology 
is  very  important.  By  adopting  the  latter  phraseology 
we  make  all  mankind  travel,  at  a  giddy  velocity,  of  more 
than  a  thousand  miles  a  minute  in  one  direction,  and 
about  a  thousand  miles  an  hour  in  another  direction.  If 
the  phenomena  be  named  the  motion  of  the  heavenly  bo- 
dies, we  escape  from  disturbing  the  quiescence  of  the 
earth ;  but  we  unmercifully  cause  the  sun  and  stars  to 


164  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;     [LeC.   10. 

travel  with  a  rotation  of  about  twenty-five  thousand  miles 
every  minute. 

Again:  if,  with  Newton,  we  call  the  sun  a  body  of  fire, 
the  language  is  harmless,  so  long  as  we  use  it  to  designate 
the  phenomena  merely  which  the  sun  exhibits  ;  but  if  we 
intend  to  deduce  consequences,  the  phraseology  is  essen- 
tial :  thus,  as  the  planet  Saturn  is  ten  times  further  from 
the  sun  than  our  earth,  and  as  fire  dispenses  heat  and  il- 
lumination in  a  degree  which  distance  diminishes  in  a  ra- 
tio equal  to  the  square  of  the  distance,  we  enjoy  a  hun- 
dred times  more  light  and  heat  than  Saturn.  This  piteous 
conclusion  is  accordingly  predicated  of  Saturn.  The  poor 
inhabitants  of  that  planet  are,  however,  not  permitted  to 
exist  with  these  privations  only,  but  more  adventurous  the- 
orists urge  the  deductive  process  further,  and  prove  that 
water  exists  among  them  in  solidity  only,  and  consequently 
they  know  not  the  luxury  of  fish.  Humanity  must  rejoice, 
that  these  distressful  consequences  are  avoidable,  by  the 
simple  contrivance  of  a  late  philanthropist,  who  has  extin- 
guished the  solar  fire,  and  converted  the  sun  into  a  radiat- 
ing fluid,  which  becomes  hot  only  when  it  falls  on  solid 
bodies.  The  heat  is  produced  by  a  combination  of  the 
fluid  with  the  bodies  on  which  it  falls,  precisely  as  water 
evolves  heat,  when  thrown  on  unslaked  lime.  We  need, 
therefore,  no  longer  wonder  why  comets  are  not  vitrified. 
Mercury  is  made  salubrious,  and  even  If eischel  a  pleasant 
retreat. 

Again  :  the  phenomena  exhibited  by  the  barometer  and 
air  pump,  were  formerly  reconciled  to  our  operations,  by 
asserting  that  nature  abhors  a  vacuum.  Latterly  we  say 
that  they  are  produced  by  atmospherical  pressure.  It  is 
immaterial  which  expression  we  adopt,  so  long  as  we  in- 


.   10.]  OR,    A    TREATISB    Off     LANGUAGE.  165 

tend  to  designate  the  phenomena  only  ;  but  the  expression 
becomes  important  when  we  design  to  deduce  conse- 
quences beyond  the  phenomena:  thus,  if  a  column  of 
water  ascends  in  a  vacuum  by  reason  of  atmospherical 
pressure,  we  can  calculate,  by  the  ascended  water,  the 
force  of  the  pressure;  and  prove^hat  a  man  of  ordinary 
dimensions  sustains  a  pressure  of  fourteen  tons.  This 
immense  burden  was  first  imposed  on  us  about  two  cen- 
turies ago,  and  it  may  now  be  removed  if  we  return  to 
the  old  phraseology  of  nature's  horror  of  a  vacuum.  How- 
ever, it  is  better  to  continue  the  burden,  (as  we  carry  it 
with  great  convenience)  and  it  accords  with  more  pheno- 
mena than  the  discarded  theory. 

I  might  accumulate  deductions  which,  like  the  forego- 
ing, depend  for  their  significance  on  the  name  by  which 
speculative  men  designate  their  premises  ;  but  I  have  pro- 
bably produced  enough  to  disclose  the  principle  on  which 
such  speculations  are  founded.  Every  person  may  find 
as  many  further  examples  as  he  desires,  for  he  can  re- 
sort to  no  science  in  which  they  are  not  prodigally  scat- 
tered. 

It  may  be  proper  to  remark  that,  while  I  descant  so 
freely  on  received  theories,  I  do  not  wish  to  depreciate 
their  usefulness.  My  whole  object  is  to  illustrate  the  na- 
ture of  language.  If  theories  are  beneficial  to  science,  it 
is  also  beneficial  that  we  should  discriminate  between 
theoretical  agents  and  the  realities  of  nature  :  for  exam- 
ple, when  we  say  that  water  ascends  in  a  vacuum,  by 
means  of  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere,  the  word  pres- 
sure is  the  theoretical  agent  by  which  we  account  for  the 
ascent  of  the  water.  Now,  if  we  would  escape  from  the 
delusions  of  language,  we  must  steadily  distinguish  that 


166  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LcC.  10. 

this  theoretical  agent  is  wholly  different  from  the  feel  to 
which  the  word  pressure  is  ordinarily  applied.  The  feel 
is  a  reality  of  nature/but  the  pressure,  which  is  attributed 
to  the  atmosphere,  is  merely  verbal.  It  cannot  be  felt 
or  seen,  nor  is  it  palpable  to  any  of  our  senses.  We  see 
the  water  ascend  in  th^vacuum,  but  the  pressure,  which 
we  say  causes  the  ascent,  is  merely  the  verbal  machinery 
by  which  we  account  for  the  ascent. 

The  word  pressure,  like  every  other  word,  has  no  in- 
variable signification,  nor  has  it  any  inherent  significa- 
tion. It  is  a  mere  sound,  whose  signification  is  governed 
by  the  phenomenon  to  which  we  attach  it.  When  it  is 
applied  to  the  effort  of  my  hand  against  this  table,  it 
names  a  feel  ;  and  when  applied  to  the  ascent  of  water  in 
a  vacuum,  it  names  the  ascent.  If  we  suppose  it  names 
also  some  insensible  operation  of  the  air  on  the  water, 
this  is  merely  our  theory,  which  signifies  nothing  ;  or 
rather  it  signifies  all  the  phenomena  to  which  we  refer  in 
proof  of  the  pressure:  beyond  these  the  word  pressure 
returns  again  to  its  pristine  insignificance,  as  a  mere 
sound. 

If  we  keep  in  view  this  distinction  between  theoretical 
agents  and  the  realities  of  nature,  we  shall  at  once  dis- 
cover the  absurdity  of  continuing  the  employment  of  these 
agents  beyond  the  uses  which  they  subserve  to  science. 
If  the  attribution  of  a  pressure  to  air  enables  us  to  sys- 
tematically embody  numerous  phenomena  which  are  ex- 
hibited by  the  air  pump  and  barometer,  &c.,  the  attri- 
bution is  valuable  ;  but  there  is  no  use  in  continuing  the 
verbal  machinery  beyond  this  utility,  and  in  deducing 
therefrom  that  every  man  sustains  a  pressure  of  fourteen 
tons ; — a  conclusion  which  I  believe  is  not  subservient  to 


Lee.  10.]  OR,   A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  167 

any  use,  and  is  therefore  only  an  evidence  that  the  per- 
sons who  make  the  deduction  are  ignorant  of  the  nature 
of  theories,  and  do  not  discriminate  between  the  verbal 
agents  of  a  theory,  and  the  phenomena  of  nature. 

That  we  may  better  understand  these  verbal  agents,  I 
will  examine  the  principle  which  governs  us  in  the  selec- 
tion of  them.  They  are  creatures  of  our  own  fabrication, 
as  their  mutability  evinces.  At  one  time  we  prop  up  the 
heavens  by  the  shoulders  of  Atlas,  or  support  the  earth 
on  the  back  of  a  tortoise  ;  at  another  we  remove  both  the 
props  and  support,  and  sustain  the  earth  by  attraction 
and  propulsion.  The  character  of  all  these  instruments 
is  alike,  though  they  vary  in  usefulness.  The  shoulder 
of  Atlas  would  be  preferable  to  the  attraction  and  pro- 
pulsion of  Newton,  if  it  would  apply  consistently  to  a 
greater  number  of  phenomena. 

I  wish  then- to  direct  your  attention  to  the  principle  that 
governs  us  in  the  selection  of  the  verbal  agents  which  we 
employ  in  our  theories.  This  shall  constitute  our  next 
Lecture,  lest,  by  a  union  of  different  subjects  in  the  same 
discourse,  the  understanding  should  become  perplexed. 


168  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;         [LeC.   11. 


LECTURE    XI. 


IN  my  last  Lecture,  I  showed  that  theorists  deduce  conse- 
quences from  names,  without  regarding  Hie  fact,  that 
names  vary  in  signification  with  the  objects  to  which  they 
are  applied.  The  word  Cccsar,  which,  in  one  applica- 
tion, is  an  emperor  ;  becomes,  by  another  application,  a 
quadruped.  Even  thus  varies  the  signification  of  round, 
when  applied  to  the  earth,  from  what  the  same  word  sig- 
nifies when  it  designates  ap  artificial  sphere. 

This  error  is  most  effective  in  the  verbal  agents  with 
which  we  construct  .our  theories.  The  earth's  motion 
around  its  axis,  at  the  rate  of  700  to  1000  miles  an  hour ; 
and  its  motion  around  the  sun,  at  the  rate  of  58000  miles 
in  the  same  period,  are  the  theoretical  agents  by  which 
we  account  for  the  phenomena  exhibited  by  the  heavenly 
bodies.  Few  persons  estimate  this  motion  as  a  word 
which  is  significant  of  nothing  but  the  phenomena  that  it 
is  applied  to  elucidate,  but  they  estimate  it  as  possessing 


LeC.  11. "J       OK,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  169 

the  same  signification  as  when  it  is  applied  to  the  rotation 
of  a  coach  wheel  ;  and,  in  despite  of  their  senses,  believe 
that  they  are  travelling  at  the  above  velocity,  in  the  same 
sense  as  they  travel  in  a  stage  coach. 

This  example  is  sufficiently  striking  to  show  that  there 
is  no  limit  to  the  infatuation  by  which  the  deductions  from 
names  are  confounded  with  sensible  phenomena.  The 
deduction  of  another  theory  teaches  us  that  the  whole 
globe,  if  it  could  be  so  crushed  as  to  lose  all  porosity, 
would  occupy  a  space  no  larger  than  a  nutmeg  ;  and,  on 
the  contrary,  a  cubic  inch  of  our  atmosphere,  if  trans- 
ported five  hundred  miles  from  the  earth,  would  be  so  re- 
leased from  circumambient  pressure  that  it  would  dilate 
sufficiently  to  fill  a  sphere  of  more  millions  of  miles  in  cir- 
cumference than  I  can  easily  enumerate. 

In*«he  present  Lecture  I  am  to  examine  the  nature  of 
the  theoretical  agents  by  which  we  arrive  at  such  mon- 
strous results — results  which  the  ignorant  estimate  as  the 
necromancy  of  learning,  and  which  the  learned  believe 
from  a  misapprehension  of  the  significancy  of  language. 

If  we  examine  our  theories,  we  shall  find  that  the 
agents  employed  to  effect  any  object  are  such  as  our  ex- 
perience has  discovered  similarly  employed.  Every  thing 
falls  to  the  earth  by  reason  of  the  earth's  attraction.  But 
why  is  attraction  the  agent  f  Because  we  find  in  mag- 
nets that  attraction  produces  similar  phenomena.  If  what 
is  literally  named  attraction  had  never  been  experienced, 
we  should  not  have  attributed  it  to  the  earth — we  should 
have  employed  some  other  agent. 

In  a  new  colony  their  various  necessary  utensils  are 
framed  of  such  articles  as  the  region  yields.  From  the 
absence  of  more  suitable  materials,  I  have  seen  wooden 

22 


170  THB    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN     KNOWLKDUK;      [LeC.    11. 

latches,  wooden  wash-bowls  and  drmking-cups,  wooden 
candlesticks,  and  even  wooden  wicks.  Theorists  are  si- 
milarly limited  in  the  agents  which  they  employ.  Where 
language  is  a  scanty  vocabulary  of  spontaneous  pheno- 
mena", the  rude  philosopher  must  theorize  with  the  gross 
agents  which  surround  him.  The  earth  is  then  support- 
ed on  the  back  of  an  elephant,  and  the  elephant  on  a  tor- 
toise. Bat  why  not  on  a  butterfly?  Because  he  refers 
to  his  experience  of  the  strength  of  an  elephant,  and  the 
endurance  of  a  tortoise.  If  he  finds  the  channel  of  a  va- 
nished river,  he  ascribes  the  disappearance  to  a  mammoth, 
which,  descending  from  the  hills,  drained  the  river  at  a 
draught.  His  deities  war  against  evil  spirits  with  bows 
and  arrows;  and  the  pleasures  of  a  future  world  consist 
of  hunting,  where  game  is  exhaustless;  and  of  fishing, 
where  tempests  are  excluded.  .  r 

We  smile  at  theories  in  which  the  agents  are  so  crude; 
and  from  the  numerous  phenomena  that  industry  has  ac- 
cumulated for  us,  we  select  instruments  more  subtle.  We 
support  the  earth  by  a  projection  or  push,  which  the  earth 
received  sit  its  creation,  and  by  an  attraction  or  pull  that 
is  exerted  by  the  sun.  But  why  must  the  motion  have 
been  produced  by  a  push  ?  Because  we  refer  to  our  ope* 
rations.  Try  if  you  can  protrude  a  billiard  ball  without 
some  impulse.  But  why  must  there  be  an  attraction  or 
pull  ?  Because  a  push  could  have  moved  the  earth  in  a 
straight  line  only,  and  not  have  driven  it  round  the  sun. 
Why  not  ?  Strike  a  billiard  ball  and  you  will  discover. 
You  can  find  a  reason  in  no  way  but  in  that  or  similar 
experiments. 

*. Formerly  earthquakes  were  caused  by  the  struggles  of 
rebellious  giants,  whom  Jupiter  had  confined  beneath  huge 


LiQC.   11.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  171 

mountains.  At  a  more  enlightened  period  earthquakes 
were  made  by  subterraneous  fires,  which,  confined  with- 
in vast  caverns,  burst  into  lightning  and  rent  the  caverns. 
After  the- invention  of  gunpowder,  theorists  new-modelled 
their  machinery.  Keith*  says  "  Earthquakes  are  gene- 
rally supposed  to  be  caused  by  nitrous  and  sulphureous 
vapours  enclosed  in  the  earth,  and  accidentally  ignited 
where  there  is  no  vent." 

Here,  however,  arises  a  difficulty :  how  is  this  internal 
and  self-elaborated  gunpowder  ignited  ?  Ignited  we  all 
know  it  must  be,  and  according  to  our  methods  also.  Mr. 
Keith  relates  the  process  :  "the  vapours  may  take  fire  by 
fermentation,  or  by  the  accidental  fall  and  collisions  of 
rocks  and  stones  in  hollow  places  of  the  earth."  But 
why  must  fermentation  or  the  collision  of  rocks  be  the 
agents,  by  which  the  vapour  is  ignited  ?  Because  the 
theorists  know  of  none  more  suitable  :  a  simple  but  a  very 
efficient  reason. 

Since  the  discovery  of  the  potency  of  steam,  philoso- 
phers have  acquired  an  agent  which  will  probably  super- 
cede  every  other  in  the  production  of  earthquakes.  The 
new  process  is  thus  related  in  Gregory's  Dictionary  of 
Arts  and  Sciences.  "  The  sudden  explosion  thtit  occurs 
from  volcanoes,  depends  probably  on  the  accumulation  of 
a  quantity  of  water  which  enters  through  some  fissure  con- 
nected with  the  sea.  If  the  water  is  sufficient,  it  will  ex- 
tinguish the  volcano ;  if  not,  it  will  be  converted  into 
steam,  the  expansive  force  of  which  exceeds  the  force  of 
gunpowder." 

*  On  the  Globoa  P. 


172  THE     PHILOSOPHY   OF  HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;     [Lt'C.   11. 

How  easily  we  convey  water  into  the  depths  of  the 
earth  !  The  sea  is  an  inexhaustible  reservoir,  and  a  fis- 
sure can  be  made  by  pronouncing  the  word.  But  why 
must  there  be  a  fissure  f  Because  it  is  the  only  invention 
by  which  you  can  convey  water  into  the  depths  of  the 
earth.  The  process  alludes  wholly  to  our  operations. 

Odours  become  perceptible  by  infinitely  small  corpus- 
cles, that  are  wafted  through  the  air,  and  strike  our  olfac- 
tory nerves.  Why  must  the  corpuscles  be  wafted  ?  Be- 
cause that  is  a  convenient  means  of  bringing  them.  Can 
you  convey  to  me  yonder  feather  unless  you  strike,  carry, 
or  blow  it  ?  If  the  odorous  corpuscle  is  either  struck  or 
carried,  there  must  be  an  agent  to  strike  or  carry  it ;  but 
wafting  requires  the  air  only,  and  this  is  constantly  around 
us. 

It  is  well  known,  says  Mr.  Keith,  "  that  the  heat  of  the 
sun  draws  vast  quantities  of  vapours  from  the  sea."  Why 
is  drawing  the  agent  which  the  sun  employs  to  raise  the 
vapour  ?  Because  there  is  no  better  agent.  The  diction- 
ary of  any  language  contains  all  the  agents  which  can  be 
predicated  by  the  persons  who  speak  the  language.  That 
the  vapour  cannot  be  pulled  up  we  know  from  our  expe- 
rience. The  sun  may  suck  or  draw  it  up,  for  we  can 
also.  „*;  ,'f 

Doctor  Halley  imagines,  that  the  saltness  of  the  sea  pro- 
ceeds from  salts  which  rivers  convey  to  it  from  the  earth. 
Other  persons  maintain  that  the  taste  is  produced  by  a 
great  number  of  salt  rocks  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Now 
why  must  salt  be  the  agent  f  Because  you  cannot  give 
water  a  similar  taste  without  the  agency  of  salt.  Here- 
after chymists  may  discover  some  other  process  by  which 
a  salt  flavour  may  be  communicated,  and  (lion  we  shall 


L€C.  11.]  OK,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  173 

be  able  to  afford  the  sea  a  different  agent  :  why  the  salt 
has  not  been  elaborated  already  in  some  recesses  of  the 
ocean,  out  of  muriatic  acid  and  soda,  is  a  marvel. 

To  say  that  heavy  bodies  fall  to  the  earth  because  the 
sun  shines,  would  not  be  tolerated.  What  possible  con- 
nexion, we  should  exclaim,  can  exist  between  the  two 
phenomena.  For  the  same  reason,  we  should  laugh  at  a 
philosopher  who  might  tell  us  that  bodies  fall  because  the 
earth  attracts  them,  had  we  not  discovered  in  magnets  that 
attraction  produces  what  resembles  the  fall  of  bodies. 

If  a  philosopher  were  to  account  for  the  fall  of  bodies, 
by  saying,  that  matter  has  an  inherent  love  of  matter  ; 
we  might  estimate  this  a  very  rational  exposition.  We 
experience  that  love  produces  a  desire  of  coritaction,  to 
which  the  fall  of  bodies  is  sufficiently  congruous.  I  wrote 
thus  far  without  recollecting,  that  love  has  been  an  agent 
in  theories.  Chymists  employed  it  in  the  composition  of 
bodies.  Nitric  acid  and  copper  combined,  because  they 
had  a  strong  affinity  for  each  other.  The  acid  would 
leave  the  copper  and  unite  with  iron,  because  its  love  for 
iron  is  stronger  than  for  copper.  A  similar  principle 
caused  the  ancient  theory  of  nature's  abhorrence  of  va- 
cuity. 

That  the  heat  of  the  sun  proceeds  from  combustion,  will 
be  the  only  theory  among  men  who  are  unacquainted  with 
any  other  cause  of  heat  ;  but  when  we  find  that  chymical 
combinations,  &c.  evolve  heat,  we  are  possessed  of  a  new 
agent  ;  and  we  can  say,  that  the  warmth  experienced  from 
the  sun  proceeds  from  a  combination  of  its  beams  with  the 
body  on  which  they  full  :  the  warmth  is  the  caloric  which 
escapes  from  the  sun  beams,  as  they  pass  from  a  fluid  state 
to  a  fixed. 


174  THE    PHIL080PHV    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;    [L.CC.    II. 

Combustion  itself  was  formerly  produced  by  phlogiston, 
a  very  subtile  and  insensible  agent  which  combustible  bo- 
dies emitted  when  heated  to  a  certain  temperature.  This 
phlogiston  was  so  light,  that  some  bodies  became  heavier 
by  losing  it.  When  a  theory  is  driven  to  conclusions  so 
repugnant  to  our  operations,  its  dissolution  is  near  ; — ac- 
cordingly, phlogiston  had  soon  to  relinquish  its  agency  in 
combustion,  to  a  more  accommodating  instrument. 

Combustion  is  now  performed  ty  means  of  oxygen. 
When  combustible  bodies  arrive  at  a  certain  temperature, 
the  oxygen  loves  to  unite  with  them  ;  and  as  it  thus  passes 
from  the  form  of  air,  to  a  fixed  state,  it  liberates  the  ca- 
loric which,  distended  it,  and  for  which  it  has  no  longer  any 
occasion.  The  deserted  caloric  scatters  indignantly  in  all 
directions,  and  is  the  heat  which  we  experience.  .  ./- 

This  theory  is  congruous  to  a  great  number  of  pheno- 
mena, and  may  never  be  superseded  ;  still,  like  erery 
other  theory,  it  is  significant  of  nothing  but  the  phenome- 
na which  are  adduced  in  proof  of  the  theory.  That  com- 
bustibles will  not  burn  without  oxygen,  that  the  residuum 
&c.  of  burnt  phosphorus  will  acquire,  by  combustion,  as 
much  weight  as  is  lost  by  the  air  in  which  the  phosphorus 
is  burnt,  and  that  the  remaining  air  will  be  devoid  of  oxy- 
gen, are  truths  which  I  do  not  dispute.  Still,  that  the 
oxygen  unites  with  the  phosphorus,  and  that  the  heat 
which  ensues  is  the  discarded  caloric  of  the  oxygen,  are 
the  mere  verbal  machinery  by  which  we  reconcile  to  our 
own  operations  the  phenomena  which  we  discover. 

Why  must  the  heat  which  ensues  have  existed  in  the 
oxygen  ?  Because  no  other  source  accords  so  well  with 
our  experience.  This  is  a  good  reason  while  it  lasts,  but 


LeC.  11. J  OR,    A    TUBATISK    ON    LANGUAGE.  175 

a  similar  reason  may  induce  us  to-morrow  to  attribute  the 
heat  to  another  cause.  The  language  is  truly  significant 
of  the  phenomena  only  to  which  it  refers ;  and  with  this 
limitation  we  can  never  err,  adopt  what  phraseology  we 
please. 

Again :  why-must  the  oxygen  unite  with  the  phosphorus  ? 
Because  we  can  account  in  no  other  way  so  well  for  the 
disappearance  of  the  oxygen,  &c.  Here  again  the  rea- 
son is  good,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  oxygen  will 
doubtless  continue  to  be  thus  accounted  for,  till  our  expe- 
rience may  furnish  us  with  a  more  congruous  process. 

Mr.  Beattie,  in  his  Essay  on  Language,  says — '*  Some 
of.th«  brute  creation  alter  their  voices  when  the  weather 
is  about  to  change.  Is  it  not  likely  that  their  bodies  are 
affected  by  atmospherical  alterations  which  we  cannot  per- 
ceive ;  and  that  they  are  expressing  pleasant  or  painful 
sensations,  even  as  an  infant  when  it  smiles  or  cries?" 

But  why  do  we  make  the  alterations  of  the  weather  a 
theoretical  agent  to  affect  the  sensations  of  brutes  ?  Be- 
cause we  experience  such  results  in  ourselves : — the 
weather  affects  our  corns,  old  wounds,  fractures,  &c. 

Before  the  scriptural  account  of  the  creation,  some  of 
the  ancients  introduced  men  into  the  world  by  the  follow- 
ing process.*  "  Where  the  country  was  suitable,  there  grew 
wombs  out  of  the  earth,  fixed  toi  it  by  roots."  But  why 
fixed  to  the  ground  ?  Why  affixed  by  roots  ?  and  why 
wombs  ?  The  whole  process  shows,  and  the  instruments 
show  grossly,  that  we  have  to  construct  theories  with  the 
materials  which  our  operations  dictate. 

*  Wollaston's  Religion  of  Nature,   1 58.— Note  H. 


176  Til 4    PHILOSOPHY  OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE;     [LeC.   11. 

In  Brown's  Philosophy,*  I  find  the  following : — M  The 
addition  of  a  new  sense  might  probably  communicate,  in 
a  few  hours,  more  knowledge  of  matter,  than  is  ever  to 
repay  the  physical  labours  of  man  ;  disclosing,  at  perhaps 
a  single  glance,  the  slow  revelations  of  nature,  that  are 
singly,  and  at  great  intervals,  to  immortalize  future 
sages." 

But  why  must  the  instruction  be  conveyed  by  a  new 
sense  ?  Because  we  know  of  no  other  agent  that  can  ef- 
fect the  object ;  hence  we  have  no  choice.  The  informa- 
tion too  is  to  be  acquired  at  a  glance.  Why  at  a  glance, 
which  is  significant  of  vision  only?  Because,  as  we  know 
of  no  agent  which  can  instruct  us  but  a  sense,  so  we  know 
of  no  means  by  which  any  sense  can  yield  instruction,  but 
by  a  glance,  a  touch,  a  smell,  a  taste,  or  a  sound  :  there- 
fore we  must  select  from  these  the  manner  in  which  the 
new  sense  is  to  operate. 

Elasticity  was  anciently  explained  by  saying  that  elastic 
bodies  are  composed  of  particles  which  are  coiled  up  like 
watch  springs.  Magnetism  furnished  philosophers  with  a 
new  agent.  The  watch  springs  were  dismissed,  and  every 
particle  of  elastic  bodies  was  surrounded  by  a  repulsive 
power.  It  would  be  instructive  to  trace  how  theories  have 
been  successively  new-modelled  as  discoveries  have  fur- 
nished new  agents.  Magnetism  and  electricity  have, 
however,  been  more  fruitful  than  other  discoveries  in  the 
supply  of  theoretical  agents.  The  alternation  of  the  sea- 
sons, of  day  and  night,  and  of  the  tides,  and  we  might 
add  a  vast  list  of  events,  from  the  fall  of  a  sparrow  to 
the  projection  of  a  bomb,  are  effected  by  magnetic  and 

*  Lecture  V. 


LeC.    11.]  OK,   A   TBKATISE  ON   LANGUAGE.  177 

electrical  agents.  Magnetism  and  electricity  furnish  us 
with  agents,  which  answer  the  exigency  of  our  notions 
better  than  any  other  agents;  and  we  accordingly  employ 
magnetic  and  electrical  phenomena  with  unsparing  libe- 
rality.  Even  acids,  which  long  produced  their  pungency, 
by  puncturing  our  tongues  with  the  extremely  sharp  an- 
gles that  mechanical  philosophers  gave  to  the  insensible 
particles  of  every  acid,  now  borrow  their  potency  from 
the  phenomena  of  magnetism. 

Theories  are,  however,  highly  useful.  We  are  at  pre- 
sent acquainted  with  no  mode  of  creating  a  science,  but 
by  embodying  facts  in  some  judicious  theory.  Besides, 
when  certain  conclusions  are  dcducible  from  a  theory,  we 
resort  to  experiments  for  their  realization,  and  thus  many 
new  phenomena  are  occasionally  developed.  -  The  expe- 
riments made  on  the  mountains  Chimborazo  and  Shehal- 
licn,  were  to  discover  the  attractive  power  which  was  de- 
duced from  the  theory  of  Newton. 

Again  :  as  the  attraction  of  cohesion  was  affirmed  of 
every  body,  many  effoits  to  consolidate  ait  have  been 
made  with  all  the  faith  which  could  be  inspired  by 
an  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  language,  arid  with  all 
the  zeal  of  enlisted  opinion.  But  such  experiments 
are  valuable,  even  when,  like  the  above,  they  are 
unsuccessful.  To  know  that  air  cannot  be  compressed  in- 
to solidity,  is  ascertainable  by  experiment  alone  ;  and 
the  knowledge  of  what  is  impracticable  is,  in  utility,  only 
one  grade  below  the  knowledge  of  \\hat  is  practicable. 

Besides,  theories  enable  us  to  associate  phenomena 
with  pleasing  illusions.  If  astronomers  had  not  applied 
the  terms  mountains,  chasms,  lakes,  seas,  arid  volcanoes, 
to  the  appearances  of  the  moon,  they  would  not  have 


178  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN   KNOWLEDGE  ;         [Lcc.   11. 

gazed  so  intently  at  that  luminary.  Newton  would  pro- 
bably not  have  so  ardently  devoted  his  great  faculties  to 
astronomy,  if  he  had  supposed  that  he  was  establishing 
nothing  but  an  ingenuous  theory,  significant  only  of  the 
phenomena  that  he  could  discern.  lie  doubtless  esti- 
mated these  as  the  most  unimportant  part  of  his  know- 
ledge ; — the  mere  loop-holes  by  which  he  was  enabled  to 
pry  behind  the  curtain  of  nature  ; — a  curtain  erected  to 
resist  the  gaze  of  vulgar  eyes,  but  pervious  to  his  acute 
conjectures. 

But  if  theories  are  merely  human  contrivances,  by 
which  we  artificially  associate  phenomena,  and  artificially 
account  for  their  production,  what  can  we  know  in  any 
particular  more  than  the  sights,  tastes,  feels,  sounds,  and 
smells  that  our  senses  reveal  ?  This  question  is  extreme- 
ly important.  It  seems  also  to  be  misunderstood  by  every 
description  of  persons.  We  hear  constantly  the  wise  and 
the  simple,  the  learned  and  the  ignorant,  propounding 
questions,  without  knowing  what  will  constitute  a  solu- 
tion; and  investigating  phenomena,  without  knowing  when 
to  be  satisfied.  I  shall  now  undertake  to  elucidate  these 
points.  I  have  entered  on  no  topic  more  practically  im- 
portant, arid  it  will  constitute  a  suitable  conclusion  to  the 
present  Lectures.  With  it,  therefore,  I  shall  terminate 
what,  for  the  present,  I  have  to  say  on  the  Philosophy  of 
Human  Knowledge.  The  subject  requires  a  distinct  con- 
sideration :  it  will  therefore  be  deferred  to  a  separate 
Lecture. 


12.]  OR,    A    THF.VTISE    ON    LANGUAGE.  179 


LECTURE    XII. 


MUCH  of  my  life  was  passed  with  persons  who  employed 
nearly  ceaseless  interrogatories.  Questions,  at  length, 
became  to  me  a  species  of  persecution  ;  and  I  can  now 
scarcely  hear  one  propounded  without  an  impulse  towards 
irritation. 

This  state  of  feeling  probably  led  me  to  reflect  on  the 
nature  of  questions,  and  I  find  no  subject  so  little  under- 
stood. It  is  a  field  which  is  not  only  ungleaned,  but  un- 
reaped.  Every  thing,  as  yet,  stands  unmarked  by  the 
feet  of  curiosity,  and  untrained  by  the  hand  of  cultivation. 
Like  the  eye,  which  sees  every  thing  but  itself,  so  ques- 
tions have  interrogated  the  whole  universe,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  themselves.  To  supply  this  deficiency  is,  you 
will  recollect,  the  object  of  the  present  Discourse. 

In  a  late  gazette  a  person  is  introduced  who  had  per- 


180  THE    PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;         [LftC.    If. 

forated  the  earth  to  discover  a  salt  spring.  At  a  given 
depth  he  found  water,  and  observed  the  continued  ascent 
of  inflammable  air.  He  solicits  philosophers  to" tell  him 
whether  the  gas  exists  naturally  at  the  bottom  of  his  per- 
foration, or  is  caused  by  the  decomposition  of  water. 

The  above  inquiry  coincides  with  the  opinion  which  is 
generally  entertained  of  philosophy.  A  philosopher  is 
deemed  a  species  of  necromancer.  He  is  thought  capa- 
ble of  making  discoveries  without  the  agency  of  his 
senses.  He  is  required  to  know  sights  which  he  never 
saw,  feels  which  lit;  never  felt,  &c. ;  or  possibly  he  is  re- 
quired to  announce  what  is  not  discoverable  by  any  per- 
son ;  not  only  what  eye  hath  not  seen,  but  what  no  eye 
can  see.  Notions,  in  rehition  to  philosophy  even  so  vague, 
arc  fuuud,  not  with  the  illiterate  only,  but  with  the  learn- 
ed ;  and  hence  the  absurdities  which  are  frequently  dig- 
nified with  the  title  of  philosophy.  The  whole  proceeds 
from  an  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  questions ;  from  not 
knowing"  what  to  inquire  after,  and  what  answer  to  be 
satisfied  with. 

I  hope  you  recollect  that  in  the  progress  of  our  Lectures 
I  taught  that  language  can  effect  no  more  than  to  refer  us 
to  phenomena.  This  position  will  enable  us  to  see  that 
every  question  is  insignificant  when  it  does  not  inquire  af- 
ter some  sensible  existence.  If  I  should  ask  what  is  the 
ehape  of  a  taste,  or  the  colour  of  a  sound  ?  Ev^ry  person 
would  exclaim  against  the  inanity  of  the  questions;  but 
the  only  cause  of  their  insignificance  is  that  they  inquire 
after  no  sensible  phenomenon.  Every  interrogation  which 
possesses  a  similar  defect  is  equally  trifling. 

Children  employ  such  questions  more  frequently  than 
men,  and  more  grossly.  In  children  the  practice  is  deem- 


Li6C.  I?.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  UN  LANGUAGE.  181 

ed  an  exercise  of  laudable  curiosity  by  persons  who  know 
as  little  on  the  subject  as  children.  Such  questions  are 
ably  ridiculed  by  Sterne.  "  By  the  right  use  and  appli- 
cation of  the  auxiliary  verbs,  in  which,"  says  he,  '*  a 
child's  memory  should  be  exercised,  there  is  no  idea  can 
enter  his  brain,  how  barren  soever,  but  a  magazine  of 
conceptions  and  conclusions  may  be  drawn  from  it,  thus  : 
Did  you  ever  see  a  white  bear  ?  Have  I  ever  seen  one  ? 
Might  t  ever  have  seen  one  .?  Ani  I  ever  to  see  one  ? 
Ought  I  ever  to  have  seen  one?  Can  I  ever  see  one  ?  If 
I  should  see  a  white  bear,  what  should  I  say  ?  If  I  should 
never  see  one,  what  then  ?  Is  there  no  sin  in  a  white 
bear  .?  Is  it  better  than  a  black  one  ?" 

Sterne  proceeds  much  further  than  I  have  copied  ;  and 
we  may  find  questions  equally  insignificant  in  grave  spe- 
culations. In  a  work  professedly  philosophical*,  I  find 
the  following  :  "  Actors,  when  they  either  laugh  or  weep, 
affect  spectators  with  the  sensations  which  the  drama  ex- 
presses. But  by  what  mechanism  do  the  vibrations  of  the 
fibres  of  the  actor's  brain  transmit  themselves  to  that  of 
other  persons  ?" 

You  may  think  the  author  is  speaking  figuratively,  and 
that  his  literal  intention  is  to  direct  us  to  the  interesting 
phenomena  which  we  experience  at  scenic  representa- 
tions ;  but  nothing  is  further  from  the  fact.  lie  is  soberly 
asking  a  question,  to  which  he  has  duly  subjoined  an  an- 
swer that  affords  proof  (if  further  proof  were  necessary) 
that  the  question  was  not  intended  to  refer  to  any  sensible 
phenomenon  ;  hence  it  differs  not  from  the  above  ques- 


*  Theory  of  Agreeable  Sensations,  Chap.  IX. 


182  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;      [LeC.   12, 

tions  propounded  by  Sterne,  or  from  another  of  Sterne's 
questions  which  I  omitted :  namely,  what  if  the  sun 
should  wander  from  the  zodiac? 

A  writer,  whose  name  I  do  not  recollect,  says,  "  it  is 
not  the  ignorant  who  should  ask  questions,  but  the  wise." 
The  ignorant  can,  however,  ask  questions,  but  they  ha- 
zard words  which  may  be  insignificant  :  thus,  I  may  ask 
what  the  effect  will  be  if  a  spark  of  fire  should  fall  amid 
gunpowder  ?  The  question  is  significant,  not  from  the 
collocation  of  the  words,  but  because  they  refer  to  a  sen- 
sible phenomenon.  The  same  question  will  become  in- 
significant the  moment  I  refer  to  no  phenomenon.  Sup- 
pose I  ask  what  the  effect  will  be,  if  a  spark  of  fire  should 
fall  amid  the  satellites  of  Jupiter? 

When  insignificant  questions  are  propounded,  it  is  well 
to  ask  the'querist  what  he  is  inquiring  after.  In  this 
way  I  have  disconcerted  many  profound  interrogatories. 
The  moment  a  person  knows  not  what  he  is  inquiring 
after,  his  question  is  assuredly  insignificant  to  himself. 

Seeing  a  shadow  on  a  wall,  a  person  asked  me  if  there 
was  any  thing  on  the  wall  when  he  was  not  looking  at  it  f 
Certainly  :  I  can  see  the  shadow  as  distinctly  when  your 
eyes  are  shut  as  when  they  are  open.  But  what  will  be- 
come of  the  shadow  when  no  man  has  his  eyes  on  it  ? 
Precisely  what  you  have  named.  Will  the  shadow  be  on 
the  wall  f  If  you  enable  me  to  know  what  phenomenon 
you  are  inquiring  after,  I  can  answer  your  question  ;  but 
if  your  question  relates  to  no  discoverable  existence,  it 
means  nothing. 

"  The  little  bodies  which  compose  water,  are,"  says 
Locke,  "  so  loose  one  from  another,  that  the  least  force 
separates  them.  Nay,  4  if  we  consider  their  perpetual 


LeC.    12.]  OR,  A  TREATISE  ON  LANGUAGE.  183 

motion,  we  must  allow  them  to  possess  no  cohesion.  But 
let  a  sharp  cold  come,  and  they  will  unite  and  not  be  se- 
parated without  great  force.  He  that  could  make  known 
the  cement  that  makes  them  adhere  so  closely,  would  dis- 
cover a  great  and  yet  unknown  secret." 

The  question  is,  what  cement  makes  the  particles  of 
frozen  water  adhere  together  so  closely  ?  Admit  that 
some  philosopher  has  discovered  this  cement,  and  for  con- 
venience we  will  name  it  A.  "  But,"  continues  Locke, 
"  this  discovery  aids  us  very  little,  without  he  can  disco- 
ver also  the  bonds  which  hold  together  the  particles  of  the 
cement."  Well,  grant  again  that  he  discovers  these  bonds 
also,  and  for  convenience  we  will  name  them  B.  Yet 
even  this  will  not  avail  him,  unless  he  discovers  the  ce- 
ment which  holds  together  the  particles  of  these  bonds  ; 
and  so  he  must  proceed  in  infinitum  :  for  every  cement 
must  be  composed  of  parts  which,  equally  with  the  first, 
will  require  to  be  cemented. 

Locke  adduced  the  above  consequences  to  shew,  that 
we  cannot  ascertain  the  cause  which  converts  water  into 
solidity  ;  but  they  evince  more  conclusively,  that  he  was 
employing  language  improperly.  When  you  inquire  what 
bonds  or  cement  hold  together  the  particles  of  water,  you 
can  be  answered  so  long  as  there  are  sensible  phenomena 
to  which  the  question  refers;  but  the  moment  the  ques- 
tion refers  to  no  phenomenon,  it  becomes  insignificant 
it  is  like  the  idlest  prattle  of  infancy,  or  the  wildest  ravings 
of  insanity. 

The  nature  of  questions  will  be  better  understood  by 
investigating  the  nature  of  nuswers.  You  will  recollect 
that  words  can  effect  no  more  than  to  refer  us  to  pheno- 
mena ;  huncc  iio4uiswcr  can  effect  more  than  to  refer  us 


184  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF   HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;  [  Lee.  12. 

to  phenomena.  When  the  Lord  answered,  from  the  flam- 
ing bush  the  inquiry  of  Moses,  by  saying,  "  I  am  that  I 
urn,"  the  answer  was  wonderfully  expressive  of  the  na- 
ture of  language,  which,  in  no  instance,  can  effect  more 
than  it  did  in  that.  We  may  say  to  life,  what  art  thou  :* 
and  to  death,  what  art  thou  ?  and  we  may  address  a  like 
inquiry  to  every  phenomenon,  but  language  can  furnish 
them  with  no  better  answer  than,  I  am  what  I  am.  If  we 
would  learn  more,  we  must  seek  it  from  our  senses.  They 
only  can  afford  us  information.  Every  sight,  taste,  feel, 
smell,  or  sound,  which  an  object  exhibits  spontaneously,  or 
which  it  can  by  any  art  be  made  to  exhibit,  is  an  item  of 
information,  whether  we  dignify  it  with  a  name  or  not ;  but 
all  the  names  that  can  be  invented  will  not  increase  our 
knowledge  of  phenomena.  We  may  as  well  attempt  to 
enlarge  our  family  by  multiplying  the  names  of  our  chil- 
dren, as  to  increase  our  knowledge  of  phenomena,  by  mul- 
tiplying the  words  that  refer  to  them. 

What  is  gold  ?  This  question  is  asked  by  Locke.  I  an- 
swer, gold  is  this  which  you  see.  But  seeing  informs  me 
of  nothing  but  the  appearance.  I  want  to  know  what 
gold  is,  and  not  how  it  looks.  It  is  then  this  which  you 
touch.  But  now  you  teach  me  how  it  feels  only.  I  do 
not  seek  this  information,  but  rather  what  it  is  which  I 
touch.  It  is  gold.  But  that  is  merely  the  name.  I  want 
not  to  know  its  name,  but  what  that  is  to  which  we  apply 
the  name.  Then  I  know  not  what  you  want,  nor  do  you 
know.  No  words  will  accomplish  more  than  to  designate 
a  sight,  taste,  feel,  smell,  or  sound,  and  these  are  not  what 
you  desire.  Your  question  is  therefore  insignificant.  It 
is  a  process  of  language,  and  may  be  pursued  intermin- 
ably. Let  me  answer  as  insignificantly  as  you  inquire, 


.  12.]       OR,  A  TKEAT13K  ON  LANGUAGE.  185 

and  tell  you  that  gold  is  something,  say  A.  You  may 
immediately  repeat  the  question,  What  is  A  ?  It  is  B. 
What  is  B  ?  It  is  C.  What  is  C  ?  You  may  proceed 
thus,  not  to  the  end  of  the  alphabet  only,  but  to  the  end 
of  time  ;  and  your  last  question  will  be  as  pertinent  as 
the  first,  for  both  are  insignificant,  if  they  inquire  not 
after  a  sensible  phenomenon. 

That  the  principle  within  us  which  thinks,  should  in  vain 
ask  itself  what  constitutes  thought,  is  a  contradiction, 
says  D'Alembert,  which,  even  in  the  pride  of  our  reason- 
ing, cannot  fail  to  surprise  and  confound  us. 

But  what  kind  of  answer  is  required  .?  Verbal.  And 
here  lies  the  difficulty.  Independently  of  words,  nothing 
can  be  more  easy  than  to  know  what  thoughts  are :  they 
are  precisely  what  we  experience.  Language  can  in  no 
way  effect  more  than  to  refer  us  to  the  phenomena.  We 
are  ignorant  of  this  simple  truth,  and  therefore  perplex 
ourselves  with  verbal  elucidations. 

When  we  attempt  to  explain  phenomena  by  the  aid  of 
words,  we  act  as  unwisely  as  if  we  were  to  teach  a  child 
the  signification  of  whiteness,  not  by  directing  his  eyes  to 
the  sight,  but  by  telling  him  that  whiteness  is  the  reflec- 
tion on  his  retina  of  all  the  coloured  rays  of  light.  Lan- 
guage is  indebted  for  its  signification  to  the  phenomena 
to  which  it  refers,  but  we  reverse  the  principle.  We  act 
as  if  the  nature  of  a  phenomenon  was  governed  by  the 
language  that  we  apply  to  it. 

This  gross  perversion  is  almost  universal.  If  I  should 
discover  a  strange  substance,  the  first  question  with  every 
beholder  would  be,  What  is  it .?  It  is  what  you  see. 
This  answer  would  be  thought,  very  absurd.  No  person 
would  be  satisfied  till  some  bystander  affixed  a  name  to 

24 


186  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;    [Lee.  12. 

the  new  discovery,  when  the  crowd  would  immediately 
disperse,  and  imagine  themselves  possessed  of  every  re- 
quisite information.  They  would  not  appear  to  know 
that  the  name  is  merely  a  human  invention,  and  that  all 
which  gives  it  significancy  is  the  appearance,  feel,  and 
other  sensible  phenomena  which  the  substance  before  them 
exhibits,  and  which  they  disregard. 

What  is  a  rainbow  ?  What  is  thunder  ?  What  are 
the  winds  ?  What  is  an  earthquake  ?  It  never  occurs  to 
us  that  the  phenomena  themselves  are  the  best  explica- 
tion of  these  questions,  but  we  immediately  resort  to  a 
profusion  of  words.  One  person  will  say  that  a  rainbow 
is  a  complex  idea;  another,  that  it  is  a  reflection  of  the 
rays  of  light  from  descending  rain.  You  may  ask  fifty 
persons  what  a  rainbow  is,  and  each  will  give  a  different 
answer.  They  will  be  astonished  at  each  other's  igno- 
rance in  not  knowing  what  a  rainbow  is,  and  they  will 
suspect  any  thing  rather  than  that  their  knowledge  is 
alike,  and  that  they  differ  in  language  only. 

"  Our  body,"  says  Locke,  "  possesses  the  power  of 
communicating  motion  by  impulse,  and  our  soul  the  power 
of  exciting  motion  by  thought  ;  but  if  we  would  inquire 
how  the  soul  find  body  produce  these  effects,  we  are  en- 
tirely in  the  dntk." 

The  difficulty  arises  from  a  misconception  of  the  nature 
of  inquiries.  If  to  inquire  is  to  observe  phenomena,  we 
act  as  absurdly  in  saying  we  cannot  inquire,  as  a  man 
would  who  should  insist  that  he  cannot  walk.  When  we 
pay  to  him,  you  are  now  walking,  he  may  reply,  this  is 
not  what  1  call  walking.  But  what  does  he  call  walking? 
He  cannot  tell.  He  knows  only  that  he  is  unable  to  walk. 
He  determines  that  nothing  which  he  can  do  shall  be  call* 


.  12.]  OR,    A    TREATISE    ON    LANGUAGE'  187 

ed  walking;  hence  nothing  will  make  him  admit  that  he 
can  walk.  To  inquire,  means  only  to  seek  all  the  pheno- 
mena which  a  subject  exhibits.  We  create  obstacles  by 
claiming  fur  the  process  an  unknown  and  occult  significa- 
tion :  a  signification  which  we  cannot  elucidate  by  any 
phenomenon.  We  divest  the  word  inquire  of  every  sensi- 
ble signification,  and  then  puzzle  ourselves  with  the  as- 
sertion, that  we  cannot  inquire. 

Hume  says,  "  our  senses  inform  us  of  the  colour, 
weight  and  consistence  of  bread  ;  but  neither  sense  nor 
reason  can  inform  us  the  qualities  which  fit  it  for  the  nou- 
rishment and  support  of  the  human  body.1' 

So  long,  however,  as  the  proposition  of  Hume  has  any 
signification,  it  is  untrue.  Our  senses  can  discover  every 
phenomenon  which  is  exhibited  by  bread,  therefore  they 
can  discover  the  qualities  that  fit  it  for  nourishment.  To 
use  the  word  quality  insensibly  makes  the  discovery  diffi- 
cult indeed ;  for  we  prosecute  it  under  this  disadvantage, 
that  nothing  which  we  discover  can  be  the  object  sought. 
The  very  circumstance  that  our  senses  discover  it  being 
conclusive  against  it;  for  the  conditions  of  our  search  are 
'*  that  neither  sense  nor  reason  can  inform  us." 

A  man  may  insist  that  he  does  not  know  what  causes 
the  sweetness  of  sugar.  Do  you  want  to  see  what  causes 
the  sweetness,  then  the  information  which  you  desire  is 
some  sight.  Perhaps  you  want  to  hear  what  causes 
sweetness  ;  the  information  which  you  wish  is  some  sound. 
If  you  desire  these,  or  to  smell,  feel  or  taste  what  causes 
the  phenomenon  in  question,  I  can  conduct  you  where  you 
can  employ  all  your  senses  in  analytically  or  synthetically 
examining  sugar,  and  the  operations  which  are  connected 
with  its  production  and  refinement.  If  you  desire  none 


IBS  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE  ;         [LeC.   12. 

of  these  your  question  must  be  insignificant.  Language 
can  effect  no  more  than  to  refer  us  to  phenomena.  If  you 
choose  to  frame  a  proposition  which  has  no  such  reference, 
the  words  may  seem  to  be  significant,  but  they  are  divest- 
ed of  signification,  and  are  vacated  sounds. 

No  answer  can  effect  more  than  to  refer  us  to  pheno- 
mena, hence  when  the  phenomena  themselves  can  be  ex- 
hibited, they  constitute  the  most  unequivocal  reply.  How 
does  magnet  attract  iron  ?  Exhibit  the  magnet  and  the 
iron,  and  let  the  querist  see  the  operation;  he  can  receive 
no  reply  which  will  be  so  authoritative.  But  he  sees  the 
fact  only,  and  not  the  cause  of  the  attraction.  Let  him 
examine  further,  then,  and  see  every  thing  that  is  visible  ; 
touch  every  thing  that  is  tangible,  and  employ  similarly 
all  his  senses  ;  if  he  wants  to  find  what  his  senses  cannot 
discover,  his  search  is  not  only  fruitless,  but  it  is  unmean- 
ing. When  he  would  speak  of  the  object  of  such  a  search, 
language  itself  fails  him  ;  for  we  may  as  well  attempt  to 
use  colours  to  portray  flavours,  sounds  and  odours,  as 
employ  words  to  express  what  is  not  a  sensible  phenome- 
non. The  inability  of  both  cases  has  the  same  foundation 
in  nature. 

It  is  laudable  to  seek  the  causes  of  phenomena,  but  we 
ought  to  know  when  we  have  succeeded  in  our  search. 
Practically  causes  are  known  by  every  person,  but  specu- 
latively  by  no  one.  To  speak,  to  move,  to  sit,  to  stand, 
we  can  all  perform  unhesitatingly ;  but  if  we  speculative- 
ly  inquire  into  the  cause  of  any  of  these  operations,  we 
confound  ourselves  with  subtleties. 

If,  however,  we  seek  correctly,  there  is  no  more  diffi- 
culty in  discovering  speculatively  the  cause  of  any  pheno- 
menon, than  there  is  in  -exerting  the  cause  practically. 


LOG.  12.]  OR-,  A  TREATISE  ON    LANGUAGE.  189 

The  speculative  cause  and  the  practical  one  must  be  iden- 
tical. To  assign  a  cause  that  refers  to  no  phenomenon, 
divests  the  word  of  signification.  It  becomes  a  vacated 
sound,  a  cause  minus  cause. 

What,  then,  causes  the  motion  of  my  hand,  when  I 
raise  it  to  my  head  ?  The  effort  which  I  am  conscious 
of  making  when  I  raise  my  hand.  Whether  this  effort 
has  a  name  or  not  does  not  affect  the  inquiry.  We  all 
know  how  to  produce  the  action,  and  that  which  we  per- 
form when  we  produce  it,  is  the  cause. 

But  some  person  may  wish  to  investigate  further.  He 
may  ask,  what  is  the  cause  of  this  effort  which  I  speak  of? 
But  here  the  investigation  becomes  verbal  only,  and  may 
be  pursued  in  inliiiituni.  If  we  assign  any  thing,  say  A, 
as  the  cause  of  the  effort,  he  may  immediately  repeat  his 
question,  what  is  the  cause  of  A  ?  It  is  B.  And  what  is 
the  cause  of  B  ?  and  so  without  end.  But  there  must  be 
an  end,  if  we  wish  our  language  to  retain  any  significance : 
The  series  must  end,  when  there  is  no  phenomenon  to 
which  the  word  cause  can  apply. 

We  may  now  see  more  plainly  the  futility  of  the  ques- 
tion which  asked,  by  what  mechanism  the  vibrations  of  an 
actor's  brain,  are  transmitted  to  the  brains  of  the  au- 
dience ?  The  cause  sdught  was  not  intended  to  be  any 
phenomenon,  and  the  answer  agreed  with  the  intention. 
The  writer  says,  when  the  motions  of  the  body,  the  colour 
of  the  face,  ami  the  directions  of  the  eye,  depict  the  state 
of  our  soul,  there  is  in  unison  a  chain  which  extends  to 
the  spectator,  and  communicates  the  vibrations  of  one 
brain  to  that  of  another. 

The  writer  shows  extensively  how  the  above  can  be 
performed  ;  but  I  will  nof  quote  further  from  so  idle  a 


190  THE   PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ;        [LeC.   12. 

speculation.  It  differs,  however,  in  no  essential  particu- 
lar from  any  effort  which  essays  to  employ  language  for 
other  purposes,  than  to  refer  to  sensible  existences. 
^  Burke  inquires  similarly,  "  why  visible  objects  of  great 
dimensions  are  sublime  r"  That  he  was  not  seeking  any 
sensible  phenomenon,  we  may  learn  from  the  answer. — 
He  says,  "though  all  the  light  reflected  from  a  large  body 
should  strike  the  eye  in  one  instant,  yet  the  large  body  is 
formed  of  a  vast  number  of  distinct  points,  and  a  ray  from 
each  makes  an  impression  on  the  retina.  So,  though  the 
image  of  one  point  should  cause  but  a  small  tension  of  this 
membrane,  yet  another  stroke,  and  another,  and  another, 
must,  in  their  progress,  cause  a  very  great  one ;  till  the 
tension  arrives  at  the  highest  degree,  and  the  whole  ca- 
pacity of  the  eye,  vibrating  in  all  its  parts,  must  approach 
to  the  nature  of  pain,  and  produce  an  idea  of  sublimity." 

Evidently  the  actors  in  the  above  explanation  are  all 
verbal  personages.  The  tension  of  the  retina,  the  reite- 
rated strokes  which  it  experiences,  the  images  which 
strike,  and  the  vibrations  of  its  parts,  are  words  divested 
of  their  sensible  signification,  and  therefore  nullified. 

Finally,  we  must  steadily  remember,  that  all  which 
Providence  has  placed  in  our  power,  is  to  record  the  phe- 
nomena that  our  senses  discover.  While  we  keep  within 
this  circle,  every  word  is  significant.  We  may  investigate 
causes,  and  trace  effects  ;  propose  questions,  and  receive 
answers;  compound  elements,  and  analyze  compounds; 
but  the  moment  we  step  beyond  this  circle,  the  charm  dis- 
solves: the  magician  and  the  magic  sink  together;  the 
universe  vanishes,  and  even  language  loses  all  its  signifi- 
cance. 


L«C.   12.]  OR,  A,  TREATISE  ON   LANGUAGE.  191 

I  have  now  completed  the  first  division  of  what  I  pro- 
posed to  say  on  the  Philosophy  of  Human  Knowledge.  I 
have  shown,  that  many  phenomena  of  different  senses  are 
so  frequently  associated,  that  they  are  designated  in  all 
languages  hy  a  single  word  ;  and  hence  we  consider  phe- 
nomena as  identical,  while  the  identity  exists  in  language 
only.  These  phenomena  constitute  a  large  class  of  ex- 
istences, and  a  misunderstanding  of  this  simple  ambiguity 
of  language  has  filled  the  world  with  metaphysical  dis- 
quisitions. As  an  example  of  these  existences,  I  would 
adduce  distance,  which,  though  a  unity  in  language,  is  two 
distinct  phenomena  :  a  sight  and  a  feel.  The  like  may 
be  said  of  extension,  roundness,  prominence,  &c. 

Secondly,  I  have  shown  that  words  are  merely  sounds, 
which  are  indebted  for  signification  to  the  phenomena  only 
that  WQ,  by  custom  or  instruction,  apply  thorn  to.  This 
seems  a  very  obvious  characteristic  of  words,  still  we  fre- 
quently employ  them  when  confessedly  there  are  no  phe- 
nomena to  which  they  can  refer.  As  a  gross  instance  of 
this  latent  sophistry  of  language,  I  will  say  that  the  air 
which  we  are  inhaling,  and  which  we  deem  pure  and 
transparent,  is  full  of  scorpions.  This  sentence  is  gram- 
matical, and  possesses  an  apparent  significance,  but  the 
word  scorpions,  referring  to  no  phenomenon,  is  nullified. 
All  our  learning  is  corrupted  with  this  error,  though,  when 
exhibited  in  so  gross  an  example  as  the  above,  we  dis- 
cover immediately  the  fallacy. 

Thirdly,  I  have  shown  that  as  words  have  no  inherent 
signification,  every  word  possesses  as  many  significations 
as  it  possesses  a  reference  to  different  phenomena.  We 
all  know  that  when  the  name  George  refers  to  Washington 
it  is  dignified  and  venerated  ;  when  it  refers  to  a  vagabond 


193  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HUMAN  KNOWLEDGE  ?      [LeC.    12. 

reeling  through  our  streets,  it  has  an  entirely  different  sig- 
nification. The  position  when  thus  applied  seems  too  ob- 
vious to  need  a  comment;  still,  when  differently  used,  it 
constitutes  a  sophistry  which  occupies  a  large  space  in 
speculation. 

Fourthly,  I  have  shown  that  language  can  effect  no 
more  than  to  refer  us  to  phenomena.  To  judge  from 
the  contents  of  any  library,  no  truth  is  so  little  known. 
We  should  rather  infer  that  language  can  effect  every 
thing  but  to  refer  us  to  phenomena.  Why  cannot  the 
most  elaborate  disquisition,  the  whole  vocabulary  of  the 
most  copious  language,  teach  some  sagacious  blind  per- 
son the  meaning  of  the  word  scarlet  ?  We  know  the  at- 
tempt was  once  made  ;  and  When  the  philosopher  thought 
he  had  succeeded,  the  blind  person  said  that  scarlet  must 
be  like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet.  By  why  is  language  inef- 
ficient in  this  particular  ?  Is  there  any  peculiarity  in  co- 
lours? No:  the  difficulty  is  in  language,  which  can,  in  no 
case,  effect  more  than  to  refer  us  to  some  known  pheno- 
menon. Every  person  knows  this  truth  when  it  relates  to 
teaching  the  blind  sights,  and  the  deaf  sounds  ;  but  no  per- 
son seems  to  understand  it,  when  he  hears  a  discourse  to 
reveal  what  exists  in  the  centre  of  the  earth,  or  what  is 
transacting  in  the  republics  of  the  moon. 

Fifthly,  I  have  shown  that  the  only  use  of  argumenta- 
tion is  to  convince  us  that  what  is  sought  to  be  establish- 
ed is  included  in  the  premises.  Or,  in  other  words,  we 
assent  to  the  verbal  proposition  that  a  half  is  less  than  a 
whole,  when  we  understand  that  the  word  whole  implies 
that  it  is  more  than  a  half.  This  plain  principle  also  is 
grossly  overlooked;  and  the  oversight  is  continually  in- 
ducing men  to  waste  their  strength  in  vain  efforts.  They 


OH,    A    TKEATI«1C    ON    LAN&UAC.E. 

the  acquisition  of  mere  premises,'  (an  acquisi- 
tion which  alone  increases  knowledge,)  -*ind  strive  to  de- 
duce new  conclusions,  though  that  is  only  varying  the 
language  in  which  their  knowledge  is  clothed.  By  this 
perversion  of  effort  we  increase,  our  knowledge  no  faster 
than  a  merchant  would  his  wealth,  who  should  close  his 
shop,  and  employ  himself  in  inventing  new  phrases  to  ex- 
press the  money  which  is  Hying  in  his  till.' 

I  have  shown,  next,  that  it  is  the  phenomena  to  which 
words  refer,  that  give  one  word  the  power  of  implying 
another,  and  that  give  premises  power  to  command  our 
-  ascent  to  certain  conclusions.  For  instance,  twice  two 
apples  make  four ;  a  half  of  an  apple  is  less  than  the 
wfcole  apple — are  propositions  which  we  assent  to,  be- 
cause our  knowledge  of  the  phenomena  to  which  the  po- 
sitions refer  compel  our  assent.  An  ignorance  of  the 
source  of  this  compulsion,  has  filled  the  world  with  the 
most  fantastic  conclusions.  Men  suppose  that  their  as- 
sent to  such  propositions  has  no  relation  to  phenomena : 
hence  they  say,  if  a  half  of  an  apple  is  less  than  a  whole, 
the  half  of  an  insensible  atom  must  be  less  than  a  whole.' 
They  pursue  this  process,  and  keep  halving  the  halves  as 
Jong  as  fancy  suggests ;  and  they  suppose  that  each  con- 
clusion is  significant  and  irresistible. 

This  constitutes  one  of  the  most  subtle  errors  which 
language  has  betrayed  us  into,  and  I  have  investigated  it 
at  an  unusual  length.  I  have  shown  that  it  governs  us  in 
the  construction  of  theories,  and  that  it  is  the  principal 
reason  of  the  great  solicitude  expressed  by  theorists  to 
define  the  names  by  which  they  denote  the  objects  of  their 
speculations.  If  they  call  one  of  the  fixed  stars  a  sun,  it 
decides  immediately  that  it  is  the  centre  of  some  group  of 

25 


194  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    HITMAN    KNOWLEDGE.       [LeC.   19. 

worlds,  whose  in  visibility  adds  only  to  the  sublimity  of  the 
speculation. 

Lastly,  I  have  shown  that  all  which  Providence  has 
placed  within  our  grasp,  is  the  sights,  tastes,  feels,  sounds, 
and  smells  that  our  senses  reveal  to  us ;  that  we  cannot 
even  ask  a  significant  question  unless  it  refers  to  these, 
and  every  answer  is  insignificant  that  has  not  a  similar 
reference. 

What  I  have  to  say  further  concerning  the  Philosophy 
of  Human  Knowledge,  may  with  propriety  constitute  a 
separate  division :  but  before  I  adventure  on  it,  I  would 
fain  know  whether  I  can  excite  interest  or  convey  infor- 
mation. I  am  too  well  aware  of  the  insidiousness  of  self- 
love,  to  be  satisfied  with  my  own  suggestions,  and  too 
painfully  conscious  of  the  depression  of  timidity,  to  re- 
tract without  an  effort.  What  I  have  advanced  is  not 
the  fugitive  offspring  of  a  'sudden  intention,  but  the  slow 
and  painful  product  of  contemplative  years.  If  I  have 
wholly  mistaken  my  abilities,  it  is  time  I  was  undeceived. 
To  the  public,  then,  I  confide  the  question ;  and  though  I 
have  no  reason  to  expect  a  favourable  decision,  a  failure 
will  at  least  save  me  from  perseverance  in  a  fruitless  un- 
dertaking. 


INDEX. 


A. 

Atmospherical  pressure,  .......................  .^. .----   43 

Antipodes, 82 

why  there  must  be,  ..........................150 

Angels,. 105 

why  they  must  exist  in  some  place, .117,  154 

Axioms,  on  what  their  authority  depends, 123 

Atheism, % 140 

Answers  are  insignificant  when  they  refer  to  no  phenomenon,.  184 
what  they  can  disclose, 188 

B. 

Blackness  supposed  universal  when  objects  are  deprived  of  light,  67 
Be,  why  the  same  thing  cannot  both  be  and  not  be  at  the  same 

time, 122 

Bodies,  why  they  must  consist  of  parts, 153 

C. 

Colour,  if  not  in  external  objects,  where  is  it? 27,  28 

how  caused, 52 

why  it  cannot  be  connected  with  external  objects, ...   58 

Circle,  why  no  part  of  it  can  constitute  a  straight  line, 42 

Causes  are  often  nothing  but  words  divested  of  signification,. .   46 

are  easily  discovered  if  correctly  sought, ». . .  .188 

why  they  cannot  be  visibly  united  wilh  their  effects,  . .   68 
defined  so  as  to  produce  a  mysterious  degradation  of  them  73 

Chymistry, 71 

how  simplified  verbally, 76 


196 


INDEX. 


Children,  their  conception  of  unknown  phenomena,  how  go- 
verned,  100 

Controversies  that   are  verbal  are  often  deemed  investigations 

of  nature, .t *..   86 

Creation,  how  it  proves  a  creator, 114 

of  what  materials  composed, 138 

explained,  ...- 129 

Contrivance,  why  it  forces  us  to  admit  u  contriver, J24 

Combustion,  how  performed, 174 

D. 

Distance,  why  invisible, 18 

Death,  its  character  of  unity  exists  in  language  only, 33 

what  we  know  of  it, '. 1 10 

Definitions ,  mistaken  for  a  process  of  nature,. . . 103 

termed  complex  ideas,  abstractions,  &c 104 

why  applicable  to  only  certain  words, 105 

their  power,  how  limited , 108 

wherein  the  ancients  appreciated  them  differently 

from  the  moderns,. 108 

why  important  in  metaphysics, 158 

Design,  why  it  proves  a  designer, . 114 

Division,  how  performed  in  infinitum, 151 

E. 

Extension,  why  invisible, 18 

why  boundless, 153 

External  universe,    why    undiscoverable    by    seeing,  tasting, 

smelling,  and  hearing,. 22 

Earth's  attraction, 49 

sphericity  explained, 82,  160 

•    revolutions, 82,  170 

why  the  earth  must  be  globular, 117,  147,  150,  160 

its  suspension  in  space  considered, 145,  170 

Earthquakes,  how  produced, 170 

F. 

Figure,  why  invisible, 18 

Form,  an  example  of  its  verbal  degradation,.. 75 

Feel,   any  which  feeling  has  not  informed  me  of,  is  unknown 

to  me, •. 96 

Free  agency, 139 

G. 

Glass,  its  crude  materials  arc  said  to  exist  in  it  unchanged,  . . .   69 
General  propositions  have  no  meaning  but  particular  instances,  79 


INDEX. 

General  propositions  are  «ften  seen  in  books  unaccompanied 

with  any  instance,  and  are  therefore  unintelligible,    89 

mean  sometimes  only  single  facts, 9O 

their  authors  receive  often  unmerited  commendation,  91 
every  one  possesses  as  many  meanings  as  it  possesses 

a  reference  to  different  particulars, •  •   91 

Geography,  what  it  consists  of  when  learnt  at  schools, 99 

Gravitation,  universal,  its  signification, 81 

God's  existence,  how  proved  verbally, 114 

H. 

Hearing  does  not  inform  us  the  direction  whence  sound  pro- 
ceeds,    , 24 

Hardness,  why  no  pait  of  external  bodies, 29>  30 

Heat,  why  not  in  fire, SO 

Hellas  signification, 105 

Half,  why  less  than  a  whole, US 

I. 

Ice,  the  coldness  and  hardness  thereof  why  inseparable, 6l 

why  not  uniti ve, 62 

why  it  cannot  be  hot, ..126 

an  example  of  its  verbal  simplification, 75 

Identity,  personal,     64 

Instruction,  verbal,  when  inefficacious, 101 

Infection  as  opposed  to  contagion, 86 

Infinity  explained, 105 

Inquiries  into  nature,  how  they  should  be  conducted,   .......186 

K. 

Knowledge  is  composed  of  sights,  tastes,  sounds,  feels  and 

smells, 95,  190 

L. 

Logical  Conclusions  often  lead  to  fallacies, 41 

are  seldom  distinguished  from  the  realities 

of  nature, 169 

Language,  its  numerous  uses, 56 

to  what  applicable, 49 

its  latent  subtilty, 71 

we  use  it  to  interpret  phenomena,  instead  of  using 

phenomena  to  interpret  language, 71 

can  effect  no  more  than  refer  us  to  phenomena,. . .   95 

Light,  way  it  cannot  strike  the  "eye, 59 

the  minuteness  of  its  particles, 68 

its  passage  through  crystal, 70 


198  INDEX. 


M. 

Magnitude,  why  invisible, 18 

Matter's  infinite  divisibility  is  verbal  only,   ......••41,  67, 1 5 1 

why  matter  cannot  constitute  deity, 1 15,  1 16 

Moon,  how  it  influences  tides, 82 

Medical  Science  injured  by  the  use  of  general  propositions,  ..83 

Mutes,  why  not  easily  taught  matters  connected  with  eternity,  109 

what  their  instructers  should  know,  ........,•.•..•109 

Mathematical  Proof,  how  constituted, 117 

N. 

Names  are  supposed  to  interpret  phenomena,  instead  of  pheno- 
mena interpreting  names, • 71 

Natural  Theology  claims  the  discovery  of  a  self-existent  being,  133 
of  an  immaterial  existence,. .............   135 

of  a  being  infinitely  perfect,. ...........  136 

its  merits  discussed, 140 

Number,  why  applicable  to  all  things, 156 

O. 

Objects,  why  we  cannot  know  they  produce  in  other  persons 

the  effects  they  produce  in  us,.. 60 

Odour,  the  minuteness  of  its  particles, 67 

how  perceptible, .•.....•...•..172 

P. 

Prismatic  Spectrum  announced  so  as  to  augment  admiration,  66 
Power  defined  so  as  to  produce  a  mysterious  degradation  of  it,  73 
Philosophers  often  expend  their  efforts  merely  to  introduce  new 

phrases, - 74 

Pain,  our  knowledge  of  it  limited  to  our  experience, 101 

Pictures  are  somewhat  hieroglyphical, 99 

Practice,  why  necessary  to  instruction, 102 

Paradise,  of  what  significant, 105 

Propositions,  why  assented  to, : 113 

Phenomena,  how  explicable, ..185 

Q. 

Questions,  their  nature  but  little  understood, 179 

are  insignificant  when  they  inquire  after  no  sensible 
existence, 180 

R. 

Realities,  how  distinguished  from  verbal ity, 49 

Rainbow,  how  fur  made  known  by  definitions, .' 106 


INDEX.  199 

Reasoning,  how  far  effective, 113 

Revelation, 14O 

what  it  can  teach, 143 

S. 

^,    Sense,  each  is  peculiar  and  its  loss  irremediable 16 

what  one  informs  me  of,  no  other  can  reveal, 32 

why  supposed  fallacious, 30,  31 

Smelling,  why  it  cannot  inform  me  of  an  external  universe,  ..25 
any  smell  which  it  has  not  informed  me  of  is  unknown 

to  me, 96 

Sweetness,  why  no  part  of  sugar, 26 

why  not  capable  of  infinite  increase,  ............154 

Sugar's  divisibility, 45 

Statues  are  said  to  exist  in  the  marble  while  in  its  quarry,. ...  70 

',  Sights  which  I  have  not  seen  are  unknown  to  me, 96 

language  cannot  reveal   them, 69 

how  far  pictures  can  reveal  them,. 69 

and  maps  and  globes, 99 

Sounds  are  unknown  to  me  that  I  have  not  heard, 96,  99 

seeing  the  sound  written  will  not  teach  me  a  new  sound,  99 

Sun,  of  what  composed, 83 

whether  it  was  created, .130,  134 

and  had  a  commencement, .....131 

Self -existent  being,  why  there  must  be  one, 115 

Shape,  why  necessary  to  the  earth, 147 

T. 

Tastes,  why  they  cannot  disclose  an  external  universe, 26 

are  unknown  that  tasting  has  not  informed  me  of, 96 

Temperature,  why  no  part  of  external  bodies, 29 

Tides,  how  influenced  by  the  moon, 82 

Thoughts,  what  they  are, . . ^ ... 185 

Theories  are  often  confounded  with  the  realities  of  nature,  ...159 

should  be  distinguished, 165 

their  practical  use, 177 

V. 

Vision,  how  caused  theoretically, 52 

Universal  attraction,  its  signification, 81 

Universe,  why  it  cannot  have  existed  always, 116 

W. 
Words  which  seem  to  name  one  existence  name  frequently  two,  18 

are  insignificant  that  name  no  phenomenon, 36 

deprived  of  intelligence,  they  may  still  be  formed   into 
propositions  which  will  seem  significant, 38 


200 


INDEX. 


Words,    the  requisite  to  make  them  significant, 49,  53 

every  word  must  possess  many  meanings, 56 

the  correct  meaning, 6O 

not  knowing  that  their  meaning  varies  with  their  ap- 
plication, causes  frequently  much  admiration,.  .64,  73 
mean  in  every  case  the  phenomena  to  which  they  refer  65 
have  generally  both  a  verbal  signification  and  a  sen- 
sible,  102 

some  signify  phenomena  only,  and  some  words  only,  105 

why  some  are  definable  and  others  not, 105 

Whiteness,  why  no  part  of  snow, 26 

the  equality  of  different  degrees  why  not  demon- 
strable,   57 

why  not  capable  of  infinite  increase, 154 

Writing,  what  is  necessary  to  teach  it, .101 

Water,  what  makes  it  adhere  when  frozen, 183 

Whole,  why  greater  than  a  part, 126 

Y. 

Yellow-fever,  is  it  indigenous  or  exotic  ? 85 

Z. 

Zeno's  Paradox  respecting  motion, 39 

is  irrefragable  by  argument, 39 


IFP1NI/ 


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